


To Have Your Heart

by LaythornMuse



Series: To Have Your Heart [1]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-03-03 01:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaythornMuse/pseuds/LaythornMuse
Summary: After a rocky start, can Jamie win Claire's heart?





	1. Prologue & Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyBeautifulDecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBeautifulDecay/gifts).



 

Claire first felt it when she was 9 years old, a warm, delicate flower blooming in her chest, that made her stomach tingle and her knees wobble. It occurred every time she greeted James Fraser, the laird’s son.

At 12 years old, Jamie was tall for his age, though his face held a softness to it that magnified when he smiled. It was that smile and the gleam in his blue eyes that made her say yes when he invited her to play, and she quickly found herself with three new siblings as Ian, Jenny, and Jamie counted her as their fourth.

A resident of Broch Morda all her life, she and Uncle Lambert moved into a cottage at Lallybroch later that year when Brian Fraser hired him to tutor his children. Though Jamie would be sent to Paris in a few years, he needed instruction to prepare him for the rigors of University, and as a learned man, Uncle Lambert suited this position well.

Living at Lallybroch also suited Claire. She was an adventurous and spirited child whose curiosity often lead her into hour-long discussions about every topic imaginable, but her latest obsessions were plants: the purpose of plants, how they grow, and why there were so many of them.

She hated the Church’s answer.

“But WHY did God make them all?” She whined one afternoon, tapping her pencil along her ledger. She puffed out a breath that made her curls bounce against her brow, and frowned at her uncle.

“Maybe God was bored,” Jamie muttered, too engrossed in his arithmetic work to look up. Jenny rolled her eyes at him and kicked his shin under the table. She looked at her friend and chewed her bottom lip.

“They offer wonderful variety,” Jenny said, contemplating the question. “They’re all so unique in shape and color, and they change as all living things do.”

“Variety can’t be the only reason,” Claire argued. “And they’re not all pleasant. Some are sharp and grotesque.”

“Good use of your vocabulary word,” her uncle murmured, before tipping his head up and smiling at her. “Why, it’s quite simple, my dear. They each perform a special task in nature. Plants can heal and kill, and some can do both. The real pleasure comes in studying how.”

With those words and a copy of Phillip Miller’s “The Gardener’s dictionary,” published just last year and a prized possession in the Fraser home, Claire took to botany and the healing power of plants and herbs.

 

* * *

 

 

When not sleeping or doing her chores, Claire would spend hours reading and collecting plant samples. When Brian Fraser bought her a mortar and pestle and some herb seedlings, Claire added gardening to her daily joys.

Her love for plants proved useful one winter when Jenny, Ian, and Jamie were confined to their beds with awful fevers and coughs. Claire dutifully made eucalyptus pastes and ointments and applied it to each of her patients to help them sleep.

Jamie however, wanted no part of it.

“It smells awful,” he moaned, pulling his blanket up to his chin and shifting away from her.

“I’m surprised you can smell at all. Your nose is redder than cherry.” She tutted at him and circled around to the other side of the bed. He immediately moved away from her. “Really, Jamie if you don’t hold still, I’ll sit on you.”

“James Fraser!” Brian barked from across the hall. “Let Claire treat you or I’ll make you wish ye had!”

He glared at her and her smug grin and huffed in defeat. Claire crawled on the bed next to him and applied the ointment to his throat and chest.

“You’re less fevered today, at least. Do you want me to read another chapter?” Claire asked with a smile, as she tucked the blanket back under his chin.

Jamie yawned and turned on his side. “Aye, but start at the beginning of Chapter 2? I fell asleep during it.”

Claire smiled and pulled the book into her lap as Jamie shifted closer to her knee.

“That evil influence which carried me first away from my father’s house—which hurried me into the wild and indigested notion of raising my fortune, and that impressed those conceits so forcibly upon me as to make me deaf to all good advice, and to the entreaties and even the commands of my father—”

“Sounds like a trouble you two share,” Brian Fraser said under his breath as he tucked an extra blanket around his son’s feet. He soundlessly padded out of the room before tossing a final glance at the pair, not missing the gentle smile his son wore as Claire turned the page.

 

* * *

 

 

In the spring, Claire would lead the group on foraging expeditions, and she often found new specimens in between their games and adventures. Jenny would sketch the plant, and if deemed necessary, Jamie would painstakingly dig it up so it could be relocated to Claire’s garden and studied.

This morning Jamie and Claire were alone, as Ian and Jenny were still working on their lessons.

“I’m not having much…” Jamie sneezed violently. “Luck…with this one…”

He carefully wiped his 15-year-old face on his sleeve as his eyes watered. Claire, now 12, grinned and took the plant from his hands. He blinked rapidly, and when his eyes cleared, he saw Claire’s smile, radiant as a spring morning’s glow.

“I think that’s three allergies I’ve discovered now, Jamie. One could wonder why you bother helping me anymore.”

Jamie’s cheeks turned pink as he kicked at the dirt by his feet. He never turned down an opportunity to spend time with her, even if it was to dig up ragweed. He shrugged, but Claire saw the telltale drumming of his fingers against his thigh. His expression settled into one of determination, and before his bravery waned, he closed the distance between them.

The kiss was a quick beat of butterfly wings against her lips, and too soon his wings were gone.

“That’s why,” he whispered.

A moment later, courage fully expended, he was gone, headed to the barn to finish his chores. Claire held a hand to her mouth, a giddiness filling her as her lips tingled, still wet from his. She could smell his lingering scent, grass and salt and fresh hay. She stood still for another ten minutes, taking inventory of all that would or could change from that kiss before she returned to her garden with her new specimen.

When the sun began to lower into the hills, Jamie found her in her garden where she usually ended her days. He smiled at her as she stood and was about to speak when Brian Fraser called them both inside.

“Jamie, you remember your uncle, Dougal?” Brian said curtly, eying Dougal where he stood in their parlor.

“Aye. Welcome, Uncle.”

“You’re a braw lad, Jamie,” Dougal began, “and your father and I thought it time for you to know your Makenzie lines.”

“Aye?” Jamie looked at his father whose face was blank, masked to hide his true feelings on the matter.

“Your mother and I agreed to it after Willie passed. Your uncle Colum is a wise man, but unable to travel. A season or two at Castle Leoch, under Mackenzie care,” Brian’s eyes burned into Dougal’s, “and then three years at University in Paris.”

Jamie’s mouth gaped like a fish for a few moments before his father’s raised brow made him close it. He had yearned for this day for years, anxious to advance his sword skills his father had taught him.

A smile broke across his face as Dougal’s hand clasped his shoulder. Brian ruffled his son’s hair, a sadness drifting through him at the thought of parting from him.

Claire watched the exchange from the doorway, her mouth clamped shut to prevent it from trembling.

Four years? From her closest friend and…her thoughts traveled back to the kiss and she tasted acid in her mouth.

Not to be. Not now, at least.

And so she forced a smile on her face, for Jamie seemed overjoyed, and went to set the table with Jenny.

 

* * *

 

**2 Years Later**

 

“The Fool. His letters get shorter and shorter while his requests only grow longer.” Jenny muttered.

Claire laughed as she looked up from her knitting. “What now?”

“Three shirts, a scarf, and a package full of mending. Apparently, he’s too busy to darn his own socks.”

“You’d think with his exams he’d look forward to distraction.”

“Oh, he’s plenty of those,” Brian Fraser muttered, not looking up from his book. Jenny’s eyes darted from her father to Claire, whose attention was now focused on her pearling.

Jamie’s letters had turned from warm to formal, and their length from 5 pages to 1. Brian’s messages with his son, however, had become longer and solicited more exasperated sighs and Scottish affirmations.

For several months, Brian was tight-lipped about their contents, but finally a month ago the contents had mingled into Jenny’s letters as well.

Jamie thought himself in love with a woman named Annalise.

Claire, simply put, was devastated.

The letter had arrived months ago, and Jenny had shared it with Claire without knowing the contents. Claire had held her face until she was back in her shared room. She cried until her chest ached, and tried her best to keep quiet to not disturb Jenny.

Eventually, Jenny slipped into bed behind her and pulled Claire to her shoulder.

“Sob if you must, Claire, and hold onto me. I’ll never tell a soul, mo chridhe.”

She let her tears roll freely down her face, gasping for air as her heart throbbed and her lungs shook with the strain of loss.

Jenny held her through the night, stroking her hair until Claire fell into a fitful sleep at last. In the morning, Jenny felt a shift within Claire. Her face was solemn, having tucked away the shards of her heart, and by afternoon she renewed her vigor in her studies.

Jenny watched her now with pursed lips, but Claire’s indifferent mask did not falter.

That night, there were no tears.

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

**1.5 years later**

  
Claire tilted her head slightly as her fingers methodically picked out shards of glass from her patient’s hand. Bryce Cameron, the Apothecary’s son, was known to be clumsy, but this was the third cut this month. It’d been a week since she took the bandage off his burn and now this was looking to be a stitch-worthy gash.

“Really Bryce, you should be more careful,” she murmured, pouring hot water over the wound carefully.

“Well, I won’t regret saving the lavender pot from taking a tumble on the floor,” he said with a grin.

“Lavender! The seedlings from England your father was expecting?”

“The verra same. It’s got bonnie sprigs too. Much more fragrant than the local kind. Da can’t wait to start selling the buds.”

“I don’t blame him. Oh, I’m terribly jealous of you,” she said with a smile, rubbing a salve into his cut. In the next room, the front door opened, the bell clinging as it shut. Claire moved to greet the visitor when Mr. Bramish’s voice sounded.

“Claire?” He called.

“Back here with Bryce,” she called.

Mr. Bramish turned the corner and tsked at the bloody wound on Bryce’s hand.

“Really lad, you’re going to make me think you’re cuttin’ yourself on purpose soon,” he said with a wink that paled Bryce’s face considerably. Mr. Bramish smirked but turned back to Claire.

“I have a visitor with me but we’ll be talking in my office. When you’re through with Mr. Cameron here, lock up the front and get on your way home lass. Setting your first broken leg is harrowing enough for a day, but ye did just fine.”

Claire smiled at Mr. Bramish’s back and turned back to Bryce who stared at her.

“You set a broken leg? By yourself?”

“Hardly. It requires a lot of strength, and Mr. Bramish oversaw the whole thing. But yes, it was…would it be horrible if I said it was exciting?” She said with a laugh and Bryce chuckled.

“I know how you mean it. Really, Claire you’re a wonderful healer, and to have Mr. Bramish singing your praise is no small feat.”

She smiled and was about to ask more about the lavender when she heard Mr. Bramish speaking with Lucas, the surgeon at Fort William. Lucas came to Broch Morda once or twice a month to visit Mr. Bramish and compare notes on patients. Claire’s eyes met Bryce’s and he nodded his head as Claire finished the last stitch. They crept over to the wall adjacent to Mr. Bramish’s office and pressed their ears to the wall, grinning at one another foolishly. Mr. Lucas encountered some of the most horrific injuries treating those who passed through Fort William, and for someone as eager to learn as Claire, his encounters and treatments were always a thing of curiosity to her.

“That damned Randall,” Mr. Lucas began in a hushed tone accepting a glass from Mr. Bramish.

“Randall,” Bryce mouthed at him and Claire nodded solemnly. Mr. Lucas always spoke of Captain Randall in hushed tones, and given the stories he recounted, she didn’t wonder why.

“The boy was 16, Alistair, and he was poor enough by the look of him.”

“The charge?” Alistair Bramish asked.

“Theft of a meal’s bread. For that, He got 20 lashes,” Mr. Lucas sighed heavily. “The boy was broken by the fifth, wailed for his mother.”

“Christ. You poulticed his back then?”

“Aye, for 6 days. Not that it mattered.”

“Did he pass from infection?”

“Nay. That would have been a more merciful. The boy hung himself on the seventh day. Did a nasty job on it too. Poor lad suffered greatly before the end.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

Silence permeated the room and Claire shifted, pressing her ear tightly to the wall.

“I…examed the body. It appears someone was gaming with the lad. He had…burn marks and beeswax on his body that had no business being there. And there was blood running down his pant legs…”

Claire pulled away from the wall, holding a hand over her mouth. She swallowed and looked to Bryce whose face was pale again.

“We should go,” she whispered, and quicker than she thought possible, she had the front room locked up and was out the door.

“Are ye all right?” Bryce asked, halfway down the road to her home.

“Yes. Just, disturbed I suppose.” Claire paused and turned to Bryce.” To be tortured to such an extreme…to make one want to die…”

“It’s unfathomable, bless his soul,” Bryce said softly, crossing himself. “But Black Jack Randall is known for his cruelty. He stays in the inn sometimes and Mr. Bramish always seems to gain some patients when he does.”

Claire stopped in the road suddenly, just inside the archway to Lallybroch. In the courtyard stood a carriage with two trunks loaded to the back, and one on the ground by the front door. Brian Fraser was speaking with the driver and waved a hand at Claire in greeting.

“Bloody hell,” she cursed. “Jamie’s home.”

Bryce let out a sigh. “Well, I guess I can’t wait longer then…”

“What…”

Bryce pushed his lips against Claire’s in such a sudden manner she sputtered from the shock of it.

“Bryce!” She spat out, shoving him away and shooting him an angry scowl that had him cowering a moment later. “What the bloody hell!”

“Yell at me tomorrow, aye?” Bryce said, looking through the archway and paling considerably. “And let me know your thoughts on the matter?”

Claire huffed as he turned tail and started a brisk pace away from Lallybroch.

“I should think its quite clear!” Claire shouted.

“G’night Claire!” Bryce shouted back, turning the corner of the road.

Shaking with anger, Claire turned and nearly collided with Brian Fraser.

“Was that Bryce?” Brian asked, slightly bewildered. Claire felt her cheeks growing warm as her mouth worked to close itself.

“Mmhmm.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t think he’d ever get the nerve.” Brian said, raising a brow at Claire.

Claire’s color took on the color of Ellen’s roses as she gaped at Brian and then briskly walked past him. To her dismay, he followed close behind.

“It’s a good match, my dear,” Brian said, a bit too loudly for Claire’s comfort. “I’m sure Lambert…”

“Please don’t mention this to my uncle,” Claire pleaded, slowing enough to meet Brian’s eye.

“His father was already inquiring your uncle about you.”

Claire closed her eyes briefly and let out a breath. There was no pretending it didn’t happen then. She heard Jamie’s voice echoing through the house, and that, compounded with the last few minutes, sent her running up the stairs calling out a soft “welcome home” to Jamie as he appeared in the hall.

She heard Jamie respond and call after her, his tone soft and pleading, but Claire was determined to find solitude, and closed her bedroom door tightly behind her. She pressed her back against the door, exhaled, and let herself crumple to her feet.

She didn’t come down for dinner, but instead wrapped her robe tightly around her, and settled in front of the hearth, letting her mind wander to Bryce, Mr. Bramish, and finally to Jamie. Her eyes flitted to a stack of unopened letters from him, neatly piled on her desk. He hadn’t written her directly in three years when the letters started appearing six months ago. She had read the first one, worried something terrible had befallen him health wise for him to reach out to her directly, but upon finding his scrunched penmanship and flippant conversation, she felt a quiet disdain begin to build as annoyance and anger flooded her. After that she ignored his letters, feigning indifference the one time Brian inquired about them.

Hearing her name on Jamie’s lips, in a deeper timbre than the one she knew, had shaken her shattered nerves and left her feeling naked. With her wool shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Claire stared into the fire, wishing its heat could calm the restlessness in her bones and the tremor in her heart.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Claire woke early despite the darkness of the morning. She scrubbed herself pink, washed her hair, and worked it into a neat braid, wound and tied up with a ribbon. Dressed neatly, she was determined to get out of the house and into town before the house woke. If she could just buy herself a few hours, or even days to figure out…

“Good Morning.”

Claire jumped, startled by the figure who stood by the main window, fully dressed and equipped with a mug of steaming liquid. His eyes locked on hers as she fidgeted with her hands before shoving them into the pockets of her skirt.

“Oh, hello.”

Jamie straightened away from the table and turned towards her. He watched her face as her eyes fell and scanned over him to the second cup sitting on the breakfast table.

“Ye always woke with the larks when we were children. I expected that may not have changed so…”

“I see,” Claire said softly. She stepped over to the table and took the mug in her hands, settling her back against the opposite wall so she faced him. She took a tentative sip and nearly spat out the over-sweetened tea as she struggled to control her face.

Jamie winced and chuckled. “I, ah, should have guessed you don’t take that many sugar cubes anymore…”

“Not since I turned 14. Lord, that’s sweet. What was that, 4 sugar cubes?”

“Three cubes was your preference. Enough to make my teeth ache,” Jamie muttered but searched for her eyes. “Here, take mine.”

“No its all right. I should be going anyway. I have to clean Mr. Bramish’s surgery this morning.” She set the mug into the sink and turned, surprised to find Jamie within arm’s distance, and his fingers nervously drumming on the table.

“Aye, I’ll walk with ye then.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Ye walk by yourself?” He asked. Claire’s shoulders tensed.

“Since I turned one, I think.”

“I meant…”

“I know what you meant.” Claire spat before she could stop herself. “Yes, I walk by myself. I’ve lived in this town my whole life and could probably make the walk asleep.”

“I ken that…”

“Then good day to you, Jamie.”

Claire walked out of the kitchen and grabbed her cloak by the front door. She pulled it over her shoulders and stepped out into the October morning. When she heard the front door open and shut a few moments later, she could not help rolling her eyes.

Clearly, this discussion was not finished.

“What are you doing?” Claire asked, turning to him.

Jamie saw the flint in her expression and decided an alternate approach was needed. “I happen to be going the same way as ye.”

“Is that right? And just what were you hoping to procure?” Claire asked tartly.

“Oh, this and that. Odds and ends. Either way, I’ll walk with ye if you don’t mind.”

“Fine.”

She heard his broad steps quicken behind her until he caught up to her side, slowing his pace then to match hers. They walked in silence until they were out of the courtyard. A few paces down the street, he let his shoulder bump into hers gently, eliciting the tiniest smile from her, the first he’d earned all morning.

“I didn’t get to talk to ye last night since you retired so early,” he said. “But Jenny shared a few tales about your pastimes. I’d like to hear more from you.”

“Not really much to tell,” Claire said softly.

Jamie shot her a dubious look. “Your training with a surgeon and have nothing to tell?”

Claire sighed, exasperated. “Well, certainly yes there are things to tell but nothing you’d appreciate.”

“How do you know that? I’ve always taken an interest in your work.”

Claire stopped at the crossroad and turned to face him. “Well, you don’t need to anymore. I’ve gotten quite used to not having your input.”

She quickened her pace after those words, leaving Jamie gaping at her as she turned back towards the road.

“You’re cross with me, then?” His hand landed on her shoulder and turned her back to face him. “I tried to explain as best I could…”

“Explain what?”

His face crumbled at her confused look. “Did ye not get my letters? Is that why ye didn’t write me back?”

“I got them. I didn’t read them.”

Jamie’s brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t ye…”

“I didn’t…” Claire looked away now, as she pushed the rising feeling of shame down. Damn it, she would not regret her choice. “I didn’t want to. Jenny told me briefly of your woes and so I figured it was more of that…”

Jamie huffed. “More of…”

“And frankly, I’ve been very busy so I figured you’d get whatever advice you needed from Ian and would settle the rest in time, so…”

Jamie stared at her, his face growing redder by the minute as blood rushed to his cheeks in both anger and embarrassment. He released a loud breath through his nose and leaned towards her as his fingers stilled where they rested in his belt.

“My letters…I’m sorry they inconvenienced you.” Jamie’s eyes fixed above her head as he nodded and looked toward town.

Jamie continued down the path, and Claire hesitated as she fell into step slightly behind him. Her face fell as she watched the muscles tense in his back. For the first time since his return, she let herself look at him. He’d always been tall, but now he was a full head taller than her. His shoulders had widened, and his red hair curled in cropped ringlets about his head. The roped muscles in his arms were visable even through his good shirt, and when joined to the widened shoulders and strong jaw sparsely stubbled with red…

“Is this it?” Jamie called, having arrived at Mr. Bramish’s establishment.

Claire stopped short, nearly running into him. His eyes cut to hers and Claire saw there what she’d been trying to not to see, the eyes of the small boy who befriended her seven years ago.

She nodded and stepped between him and the front door. He would not meet her eyes.

“Jamie…I’m…”

“Be home before dark,” Jamie muttered as he turned away from her. “Otherwise I’ll be coming to collect ye.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Has the oils helped the burns, Mrs. McClarren?”

Claire held Camille McClarren’s burned forearm in her hands. After weeks of treating the burn site with cooling pastes, and then maggots to clean away the dead skin, the skin was finally strong enough to handle topical oil massages. Despite her initial complaints, Mr. Bramish had assured Mrs. McClarren that it was a good sign she could still feel the pain.

“Oh Aye, thank ye, Claire. It keeps me from scratching the new skin off, that’s for certain.”

Dunkin McClarren, the 5-year-old son of the McClarren Bakery down the road, ran the length of the surgery from the front door to Mr. Bramish’s office in the back. Dunkin was a giggling mess now that Mr. Bramish has joined the game, shouting in surprise every time Dunkin ran through his door. Claire applied more oil into her hands and rubbed it along Camille’s arm, smiling as Dunkin bumped her hip and continued on his run.

“You’d think I’d put a fire under him by the way he runs about,” Camille tutted, a small smile still playing across her lips. Dunkin let out a shriek as he crashed into the legs of a new patron entering the surgery.

“Dunkin Fitzgibbons McClarren! You STOP that this…”

“Och, dinna fash, Mrs. McClarren,” Jamie chuckled as he patted Dunkin on the head. “Though, I do not know ye, young master. The last McClarren I met was just a wee bairn. Ye cannot be him.”

“It was me for certain. I’m only five.”

“James Fraser, you were but a wee bairn when I saw ye last. The four years seems to have grown you a bit,” Mrs. McClarren said with a grin.

“It did, thank ye, misses.” Jamie’s eyes found Claire, who frowned back at him.

“Claire, are you ready?”

Claire had her eyes trained on the window where the sun was painting the sky a deep purple.

“It’s not dark yet.”

“Och, dark enough,” Mrs. McClarren stated, gathering her things and her tired child. “Thank ye, Claire. I’ll see ye in two days time?”

“Yes, but no stoves yet.”

“Aye, my husband won’t let me near them. Good evening Mr. Bramish!”

“Good Evening, Camille!”

Claire looked at Jamie and pursed her lips.

“You’re early.”

Jamie poked his head out the front door and looked back at her.

“Do you mean for the moon to be fully risen by the time ye start home…”

Claire was about to let a sharp retort leave her lips when she thought of their earlier exchange. The day had been bleak, with several infections and more worsening illnesses than healing ones. She let her eyes meet his, and let her exhaustion and sorrow show for the barest moment…

It was enough.

Jamie walked over to her and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier…” she started.

Jamie smirked. “I think ye meant a good deal of it, Claire.”

She furrowed her brows. “Perhaps but I…”

“Claire, are ye ready to walk hom…oh.”

Bryce appeared in the doorway, his eyes finding Claire’s and then widening in a quiet horror as they fell on Jamie. Beside her, Jamie bristled. That answered any questions she had about Brian sharing what he saw.

Right then. How to handle this…


	2. Chapter 2

She watched as the two men stared at one another, neither fully knowing what to make of the other man, and both thoroughly irritated to be in the presence of the other. She chewed her lower lip and forced a smile on her face as she pressed her palms together.

“Bryce, this is…”

“Aye, I ken who he is. Good to see ye, Jamie,” Bryce muttered in a partially convincing voice.

“Aye, though I didn’t expect we’d be meeting again so quickly,” Jamie seethed, pushing away from the table and taking a step towards Bryce. Bryce took a step back, but as if remembering himself, stepped forward again with a determined look on his face.

“I wanted to tell her myself if ye don’t mind. It seemed the decent thing to do,” Bryce countered, raising himself to his full height, which was still devastatingly short of Jamie’s stature.

“Oh, aye? Now you care about decency?” Jamie spat at him.

“What are you two talking about?” Claire interrupted.

Bryce raised a brow at Jamie. “Did he not tell ye then?”

“Tell me what…”

“I was going to tell you this evening…”

“He’s had me banned from spending time with ye alone, because of my rash behavior in the courtyard last night. I can only call on ye Sunday afternoons in the company of your family.”

Claire’s face shifted from confusion, to shock, and then finally settled on quiet rage. She fixed her eyes on Jamie, who was staring intently at his boots. She then moved her gaze to Bryce, whose smug grin vanished under her eye.

“Thank you, Bryce. I’ll see you Sunday, then?” Claire said evenly.

Bryce, aware that he was being dismissed, bowed his head and was gone a moment later, leaving Claire once again with Jamie. Claire silently cleared the table, taking great care to not smash the dishes in her anger.

“Claire…”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. No, words would not do at the moment. Not to him anyway.

Claire called a goodbye to Mr. Bramish before she swiftly stepped out the door into the brisk night air. Jamie stayed a few paces behind her, though given her pace that evening, it was quite an undertaking.

Claire felt her heartbeat in her neck, in her palms, and in her feet as she stalked home,  her jaw clenched and hand squeezing her basket tight to 

_If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t say a single word.  What could he possibly have to say anyway that could make this better? No, he wouldn’t…couldn’t be that dense.  He’ll stay quiet. He…_

“Claire, I want to explain…”

Claire froze and turned to face him, her rage fully embodied in the tension in her arms and the slight quiver to her lips. Her answer was sharp and cut him off.

“There is no explanation for you meddling in my affairs within hours of being home.”

“It’s no’ proper for him to be acting that way, especially without your permission.”

“Perhaps he had my permission! Maybe I even liked it! Did that ever cross your mind?”

Jamie scoffed and scrunched his reddening face in frustration. “From what I heard that was not the case, Claire.”

Claire scowled at him and threw her basket down onto the ground,  stepping towards him with clenched fists and a trembling anger.

“And besides, ye wouldn’t be so foolish to waste time on a timid toad like Bryce Cameron,” Jamie continued and raised a brow at her new stance.   “Though I’ll give him some respect for coming to talk to you after he nearly pissed himself this morning.”

Claire shoved at his middle with all her strength and managed to make him take a step back.

“You bloody arrogant bastard. It’s “no’ proper” for you to be issuing threats on my behalf,” Claire shouted, the rage she’d kept in check fully displayed now. “I am not your property…”  

“I’d be damned if you were,” Jamie shot back, his face tight with his own anger as he held her away from him by her clenched fists. “I’ve always looked after you, despite your disregard for your safety. Traipsing through the forest, riding like a hellion, and now I’m a bastard for putting a boy in his place who compromised your reputation.”

“Says the other “boy” who’s taken the same liberties with me.”

Jamie gaped at her as he released her hands and his face paled. “You’d compare me to him? We were children…”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Claire spat. “It clearly meant nothing to you given how quickly you forgot me upon leaving.”

Her words hung thickly between them, the anger and accusation silencing them both.

Claire’s throat tightened as tears threatened to fall down her face. She picked up her basket and turned her back to Jamie as her lip began to quiver.

“I never forgot you.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but his words echoed through her bones as if he’d shouted them off a mountainside.

He appeared beside her a moment later and produced a small, neatly folded handkerchief with a familiar rose embroidery neatly worked into the corner.

“That’s mine,” she whispered. “I…”

“You made about a hundred of them that summer and stuffed them into every nook and cranny around the house. I found this one in my trunk when I finally arrived at Leoch,” He said quietly, a small grin crossing his face. “It brought me a good amount of comfort when I was homesick those first few months, so I kept it with me.” He handed it to her and took a step back, his eyes cast down towards his feet and he nodded as if making a decision.

“You’re right,” he started. “It’s not my place to pass judgment on who is worthy of your time. I won’t force my way into your affairs, or your time, again.”

It was Claire’s turn to gape as Jamie turned from her and proceeded to walk home. The folded handkerchief felt heavy in her hand and she realized a moment later, it held an object. She unwrapped the tight square and found within it a jewel-encrusted pin shaped into a rose. The workmanship was exquisite, with several shades of red and pink gemstones shading the rose’s petals.

Claire looked up to see Jamie as he turned the corner into Lallybroch’s courtyard. He didn’t look back at her, and for that Claire was grateful. He’d only been back home for a day, and yet Jamie Fraser had managed to create utter chaos in her reliable, if not a bit dull, daily routine.

She didn’t know what to make of this enchanting and completely exorbitant gift, nor his words, nor his actions. Utterly confused, Claire continued home and excused herself to her room upon entering the front door. Sitting in her chair by the hearth, she bit her lip as her eyes strayed to the stack of letters on her desk. She paced, then debated, and then finally relented as she took up the pile in her hands, sorted it by date, and took a deep breath as she tore open the oldest letter.

> _“My Dear Claire,_
> 
> _I have not received a response to my first letter, which leads me to believe you think me to be an utter ass. I debated about sending an apology outright, but thought it best to invite you into a cheerful conversation about my studies rather than address my own shortcomings._
> 
> _Please forgive my cowardliness._
> 
> _I should start by telling you that I have made a egregious mistake…”_


	3. Chapter 3

“Claire, how much sugar do you want in your tea?” Bryce asked as he lifted her cup from the table. Claire startled as she was brought back to the Sunday afternoon tea she was supposed to be serving Bryce,  who, despite having come over for the past three weeks,  had still managed to say nearly nothing, at least beyond their typical conversation of plants.  He looked at her expectantly now, 

“No sugar,” she said quietly and took the cup from him before settling it on her lap. Bryce sat quietly beside her,  hesitating between breaths as if he had something he meant to ask her.  Finally, she put the cup down on the table and stared intently at him until he met her gaze.

“What is it, Bryce?”

“Well, I’d like to kiss you, is all.”

“You haven’t been able to talk to me for weeks, and instead of doing so you want to kiss me?”  She looked at him in disbelief as he nodded. “Why?”

“I think it’d be easier, for one, to kiss ye rather than talk to ye.”

Claire’s glare threatened to sear a cut across his throat.

“At least while I’m nervous, aye?”

Claire rolled her eyes and stood up grabbing the tea kettle.   “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As she stood in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil,  Claire found her thoughts drifting, as they did quite often these days, to the contents of Jamie’s letters.  That evening, all those weeks ago,  she had read through several of them over and over, the disbelief eventually giving away to dread and then sadness.  

 

> _I should start by saying I’ve made an egregious mistake and beg your patience as I tell the narrative.  As you may know by now, Paris has been diverting in more than just culture and studies. I made the acquaintance of a young woman nearly a year ago and quickly found myself swept up in the arduous task of gaining her affection.  One evening my pursuit had me escorting her to a very long winded rendition of “Les Indes Galantes” that she appreciated so much as to oblige me a kiss upon parting. (Please do not throw this in the fire yet.)_
> 
> _I was stunned to discover that I felt nothing when I kissed her.  I had dreamt of such an event for months and to finally live it and have it be so lackluster…I immediately assumed I was ill or tired, or hungry, all of which you know can turn my disposition quite unkindly, but found myself time and time and time again…_
> 
>  

She really wished she hadn’t memorized the letter.  He was rather an ass sometimes…

 

 

> _…with little affection for her and very little attachment.  We stopped seeing each other that summer, and I heard some other gentleman sought her hand a few months later. I felt far more concern over my current predicament.  I conducted a few more trials to confirm my conclusion_ ( ASS, she thought to herself ) _and find myself with the following dilemma:_
> 
> _You were my first kiss, Claire, but I’ve done us a disservice. Perhaps if I had kissed someone else first, I would have realized that day in the forest that I was completely and irrevocably yours. I gave you my heart that day, and only now in finding it missing has that truth underscored my foolishness._
> 
>  

Claire took a gasping breath as the whistle on the kettle sounded. She settled the kettle on the tea cozy, letting her rattled nerves settle again before she returned to the parlor.  She hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Jamie since that day on the road.  Truth be told, he had kept himself quite busy,  volunteering to go out to the outskirts of Broch Morda to visit some tenants with ailing roofs.  He had also gone riding with Ian Murray for several days, much to Jenny’s chagrin, and had only appeared to supper once in the past five evenings.

What bothered her most was his inability to hold her gaze.  He was always hospitable, but distant,  and he held to his oath, giving her a wide berth in the early morning hours.

“Claire?”

And on Sundays.

Claire picked up the kettle and went back into the parlor, determined to resolve at least one issue that rattled her mind these last few weeks.  

“Kiss me.”   Claire placed the kettle down and put her hands on her hips.  

Bryce raised a brow at her. “What, now?”

“Yes now, you ninny.”  

He stood and shuffled his feet a bit before walking over to her.  “Aren’t I supposed to surprise you with it or…”

“No.  Not unless you want to get slapped.”

“Oh. Well then…” Bryce gingerly placed his hand on her arm, pulling her closer until his lips swept over hers in a fairly pleasant fashion, his lips not altogether too dry or moist, but warm, pliable…

And empty.

He pulled away from her and she saw the remains of a glazed look leave his eyes before he shucked them to the ground.  

“Bryce Gilliam Cameron,” Claire announced,  though her tone was soft.

“Claire ye know I hate that…”

“Who were you thinking of, when you kissed me?”

He paused.  “You.”

“Liar.  You can never lie to me, you fib-giblet.”

“You’ll be angry at me.  No Claire I won’t…”

“Bryce,” Claire said in an admonishing tone.  “Who?”

“…Leanna McCleary.”   A small smile crossed Claire’s mouth.

“Still?  You’ve been infatuated with her since we were children…”

“It means nothing, Claire.  I would like very much to be marrit to ye…”

Claire shook her head and laughed. “You should really never play cards, Bryce.”  She chuckled as he came and sat beside her,  and she squeezed his hand.  “Why on earth are you courting me if you love Leanna?”

Bryce shrugged.  “My father thought it was a good match.  We are verra similar Claire.”

“Too similar, sometimes.” Claire countered.

“Aye, but I do enjoy your company when you aren’t flailing me with your words,  and ye do have a good way about ye with plants and healing.  I thought we’d be good partners at life.  I still do.”

“But…”

“But…” He interrupted her.  “I’ve known your heart hasn’t been yours to give for many years. I thought perhaps I could sway ye, and in doing so, sway myself I suppose.” He grinned at her then, exposing a bright straight set of teeth and gleaming green eyes.  He really was attractive, Claire thought.  She could absolutely do worse.

“How did you know that, when even I didn’t?” Claire said softly, nudging his shoulder with her own.

“I’m your closest friend, besides Jenny perhaps.   It was a light that had left your eyes.  I’m happy to see it returning.” He stood then,  and helped her to her feet, pausing to chew his lower lip a moment longer.

“What is it?” Claire asked.

“Do ye really think Leanna would be receptive to me?”

Claire smirked at her friend as she reached forward and fixed his necktie. “Have you not seen the looks she throws me in church?” Claire said with a grin.  “She wants to pummel me with a dung shovel.”

“Well, that’s how most feel about ye…”

Claire thumped him in the chest before reaching forward to embrace him.  He released a sigh as he pulled her close.

“Thank ye for not wanting me, Claire,” he said with a grin.

“You’re very welcome.  Give Leanna my best.”   Claire pecked Bryce’s cheek and walked him to the door,  passing Brian’s office on the way back.  He called out to her and she stepped into his office to see him wiping his eyes.

“Claire,” Brian started and tried very hard to contain the mirth that tore across his expression despite his will to control it.  “Did you just debate your way out of a marriage proposal?”

Claire blinked. “Well, I suppose yes.  I did.”

Brian took up his pen and continued with his letter.  “That’s what I thought. Carry on, my dear.”

 

* * *

 

  
Claire kept her bedroom door cracked that evening and hoped that it might be encouragement enough for Jamie to stop and speak with her.  No doubt his father had briefed him on Bryce.  But to her dismay, Jamie never appeared at her door that night, nor the next. By this time,  she had opened all the letters to find they weren’t all proper letters.  Some contained small wax pouches with seeds.  Others held drawings of plants,  some she’d never seen before with dried cuttings and their scientific name written below carefully.

“Gypsophila Paniculata,” Claire had murmured to herself, as she inspected the dried buds. Having carefully cataloged all the small treasures and flattened the drawings, the only task left was to thank their deliverer. 

The next morning, she planned an ambush in the kitchen, not so different from the one he’d set for her a few weeks back. Her mouth smirked with satisfaction when she heard his sharp inhale upon seeing her and the foreboding teacups.   
“Good morning,” he said lightly and nodded at the cups as he took one.

“Good morning. I was hoping to speak with you before you set out,” Claire said.

“What about?”

“Your letters.”

Jamie’s eyes flickered between hers and the table. “Oh, that.”  Then his head shot up. “Is that why ye dismissed Bryce the other day?”

“What? I didn’t…”

“Because if that’s so then you must correct it immediately,” he said as he rounded the table. “I didn’t know what you were thinking, throwing away a marriage proposal…”

“I didn’t throw away anything…”

“Especially to someone ye care for…”

“Will you listen to me?” She hissed.

“Nay. For once you’ll be listening to me Claire,” he said sternly.  “I won’t have you throwing away your future because of some guilt I made you feel in letters I probably should have never sent you.”

She stilled.  “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t meet her eyes again as he brushed past her and headed out toward the barn.

She cursed under her breath as she followed behind him.

”Jamie, wait!” He didn’t slow his pace and she watched as he walked the field before turning into the stables. She sighed, cursing the stubborn ass, before turning toward the road and starting towards town.  

Upon entering the square,  she felt time still and speed up warping her view until all she could see was Mrs. McClarren’s burned arm held forcibly behind her back by a redcoat who was dragging her out to the square. Camille screamed and the soldier threw her to the ground, his boot about to connect with her ribs when Claire rammed his side at full speed, knocking them both off balance.  

Mr. McClarren, who was watched from the door, ran out to grab his wife, but just as Claire turned to run in the opposite direction, a hand closed around her throat.

“What have we here, then?” Black Jack Randall sneered, having regained his footing.  

“Let her go, sir,” Mr. Bramish said,  stepping forward from the shop door.  “She’s my apprentice and I’ll discipline her as I see fit for her disruption.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do, Surgeon,” Black Jack barked. “Besides, you wish me to believe you train women?”

“Not usually,” Mr. Bramish added.  “But I made an exception for her. She’s English you see.”

Black Jack’s grip tightened on her throat and Claire fell to her knees, squeaking as she tried to draw air past his fingers.

“I highly doubt that. Maybe as a child yes,  but I’m sure she’s laid with half the men in this village by now, which makes her a Scot, and a troublesome one with no manners. You see,  I was about to whip the woman for having shorted me my change, hence stealing from the crown, when this vicious thing attacked me,” Black Jack ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “And now I wish to make an example of her.”

He took his time about it, removing the rope from his saddlebag as the 3 soldiers with him looked on, their eyes skittering between their superior, the townsfolk,  and some point down the road Claire could not see.  He had already tied her hands in front of her, but now he slipped a noose over her head, as she grasped her hands to stop their trembling.  A tear fell down her cheek as he tightened the rope,  but when he turned her chin up to look at him,  her expression was not one of pleading or desperation.  It was one of fury and hatred.  

“You do have some fight in you, hm? Maybe you are still English.”

“Kill me,” Claire croaked, “and I’ll haunt you until the day you die.”

“Oh, a witch then?”

“Aye.”

He stared into her eyes for several moments before he yanked on the rope and pulled her flat onto her stomach.  He proceeded to the hitching post and pulled Claire behind him as she struggled to keep up, bound as she was.  He wrapped the rope once over the pole and then tightened it until Claire’s neck was flush with the post.  It was a struggle to position herself so she didn’t pull at the noose.

The first blow to her gut nearly undid her, knocking the wind from her lungs and setting her chest on fire. By the 10th, she realized the pain was fading as she took smaller breaths. 

“Sir.”

“What, private.”

“Commander Norfolk approaches from Fort William.”

“You said we had hours…”

“He must have left early sir. He’ll be here within the hour and we haven’t…”

Black Jack pushed the private away and grabbed Claire’s hair. “Thanks to you, I don’t have time to loot the town’s manor.”  He landed one more fist between her ribs. “Though you know,  I believe I had more fun doing this.”   

Claire’s vision swam and then faded into darkness.

 

* * *

 

The first thing she remembered was a sensation.  Warmth. Touch.

Then her hearing returned. 

“Da, I’ve brought them.”

“Good lad.  Mr. Bramish needs hot towels so get the water boiling now…Brian-”

She felt the weight of the steps on the floorboards beside her bed but could barely flicker her eyes to acknowledge them. A familiar hand slipped into hers and a set of lips brushed her forehead as a voice penetrated through her pain, swelling, and fear.

“Claire,” Jamie whispered. “Just keep holding onto me, and I’ll bring you home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Jack saying he has no time to loot the manor = he never attacks Jenny while Brian Fraser is at Camille’s funeral (untreated burns could easily be fatal), so Jamie is never captured. I was trying to be too sneaky. Sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

She felt as if her mind was drifting through a fog, unable to focus on any one touch, sound or smell. All of it was too much, too overwhelming, and yet she grasped at every tendril and hoped one would not slip away.

She opened her eyes with a painful gasp and realized she was back in her bedroom, on her back and unable to breathe.

“Claire?”

She wheezed as the strain to fill her lungs made her arms tremble, and within a moment two voices were in the room.

“Help her sit up. Claire, you’re all right. Do you hear me, lass?” Mr. Bramish asked. Claire nodded as another cough rattled her lungs and sent spikes of pain through her body. A crackling whine escaped her throat, the closest thing to a scream she could muster given the condition of her throat, but Mr. Bramish understood it regardless.

“Jamie, sit behind her. Just like that. There. Slow breaths Claire.”   Mr. Bramish’s hand cupped her cheek and pressed a warm towel to her neck.  It was easier to breath now without gravity pressing down on her broken ribs. A warm liquid was raised to her lips and she sipped it gently, feeling it sooth and likewise rip up her throat at once. She turned away from the liquid with a grunt.

“I know it hurts…small sips Claire. Three more sips and you can go back to sleep. That’s a good lass.”

Claire suffered her caretakers’ cajoling words and gentle touches, allowing herself to be enveloped by the arms that held her upright.

When Mr. Bramish felt satisfied, he fed her laudanum and she slowly slipped back into her dark dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

When her eyes opened next, the sun was shining through her window and lighting the room in a soft glow.  Morning, she thought, though she couldn’t be certain how many days had passed.  The pain in her chest was still dulled, as was most of her body thanks to the laudanum,  but her dry throat was unbearable. She turned her head to search for water when she became aware of the arms around her waist and the riot of red curls by her face.  Her brows furrowed until her memory pieced itself together: Jamie had stayed with her, through many coughing fits and gasps for air.  He was propped up behind her against several pillows but his body was hardly relaxed.  Even in sleep, he held her securely against his chest while his breech-covered legs cradled her between them.  Her eyes slid to his bare calves and she brushed one gently with her toe, a small smile lighting her lips as his muscles tensed and relaxed again.

“You’re awake,” he murmured into her hair as his hand sought hers and squeezed it.  She turned her face up and winced, realizing too late that she was stiff as a board.

“Easy. Don’t be testing your neck just yet,” Jamie murmured softly, easing his hand under her chin to keep it still. She could feel the heat of his chest seeping through his shirt and didn’t object as he tucked her cheek against him.  Not that she could object if she tried.  She met his eyes and raised her brows in a silent question.

“This is the third morning since your attack,” he said quietly.  “Mr. Bramish notes no lasting injuries, and believes you’ll find it easier to talk when the swelling goes down.”

She raised her hand then to her throat and felt her stomach turn as the tender, raw skin around her neck bubbled and swelled in unnatural places. A tear escaped down her cheek as her hands moved down her neck and she instantly regretted it when her fingers felt the burning sensation of mending bones and a tender collarbone. Jamie took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“Dinna fash,”  Jamie said softly. “It will all heal.”

“H…Haaa…avvv…” Claire squeaked out,  and Jamie’s hand shot out and produced for her a slab and chalk.

“Hush.  Here, use this.”

> _**Have you slept?** _

“That’s your question? You’re bruised and battered and want to know if I’m tired?”

She quirked a brow at him and tapped her chalk against the slab.

“Yes, I’ve slept. Here, actually, if you must know,” He answered,  and released a jaw-cracking yawn.  “You were struggling to breathe on your back and side, so…I stayed.”

> _**Your father let you?** _

“He slept in the yon chair the first two evenings after he grew tired of arguing with me.” He grew quiet but then continued. “The first day I left you for a few hours to eat and handle some chores, but…but you rasped and wheezed terribly. I never stayed away long after that.”

Claire felt a blush shade her cheeks as this tender words washed over her. Many things floated through her mind,  but only one stood out.

> _**Thank you for staying.** _

“Mmhmm,” he muttered against her curls, his hand snaking out to the night table to grab an awaiting bowl that released a pleasant scent and steam. “We’ll see if you still want to thank me after I make you drink this.”

Claire’s lips turned down when she reached for the bowl and Jamie held it away.

 “Keep your hands down.  You’re weak as a kitten and Jenny will flay me if you spill this.”

Claire reluctantly settled back against his shoulder, and to Jamie’s surprise, allowed him to spoon feed her with little more than a grunt.  

“Are you in much pain?” Jamie asked softly, guiding another spoonful of soup into her mouth. Despite the soreness of her throat, the broth and its heat felt heavenly and gently eased the tightness of her belly.  

> _**Soup is too good to feel pain.** _

Jamie let out a chuckle as she opened her mouth for another spoonful.

“I’ll have to ask Jenny how much whiskey she snuck into this later.” 

Claire smiled then, and Jamie felt three days of anxiety he had harbored in his chest melt away.  Jenny appeared in the doorway a few moments later,  a gentle smile on her lips as she shooed Jamie out of the room so Claire could wash.

Claire quickly established a daily routine: Breakfast with Jenny and Jamie, followed by a bath and bandage change with Jenny’s help. Claire followed this by walking a few laps around the room, knowing the movement helped keep her lungs clear before she forced herself to sit in a straight-back chair until lunchtime.  Jamie usually joined her for meals before Brian chased him out of the house again, leaving her to knit until nightfall, when Jamie would read to her until she fell asleep.  

“Just so we’re clear,” Brian Fraser said the first evening, once Claire was decidedly asleep. “The moment her breathing is stronger, you’re back to your own room.”

Jamie struggled to keep the grin off his face. “Aye.  Understood.”  

Brian nodded, shooting his son his best stern glare before he left them. Now, two weeks later, Jamie thought back to that first night with a soft smile as his eyes swept over the words on the page.  Claire’s head was tucked snuggly under his chin, keeping still even as he finished the chapter and closed the book.

“Do…you have…to go?”  

The answer was a complicated one.  If he had his way, he’d never be apart from her, but holding her close now was an agonizing torture.  An innocent wiggle of her hips was enough to set him ablaze and had inspired more than a few cold water ablutions. That and the sheerness of her nightdresses…

“Aye, I do.  But I won’t be far.” His finger curled into a loose tendril of her hair and moved it behind her ear.  She looked up and met his gaze, her golden eyes burning into his as she tipped up her chin, and pressed a kiss to his thumb.  He watched her bottom lip as it curled around his finger, aware only of the heat of her mouth and the fast beat of his heart.

“Jamie! Da needs you!” 

Jenny bellowed from the bottom of the stairs,  startling Claire and Jamie back to their surroundings.  They stared at each other for a moment before Jamie stood, kissed her forehead goodnight, and exited her room,  berating himself as a coward the entire way to his father’s study.

* * *

Claire’s recovery took longer than anticipated, despite the soreness in her ribs healing quickly.   After three weeks, sleeping on her back was comfortable again and by six weeks, she could run without being immediately winded.

Her voice, however, was another issue entirely. Her words crackled and broke up in conversation, ranging from high squeaks to raspy croaks. Her frustration with the slow progress was evident,  and eventually, she seemed to give up entirely.  

 The winter cold blanketed Lallybroch, which only encouraged Claire to become more recluse. She hadn’t returned to town since she was attacked, but Jamie realized that now she rarely left the house, often only going as far as the front steps. 

Jamie found her hovering by the main steps one morning, her eyes set on her garden less than 30 yards away, when he had a thought. He approached her slowly,  noting her skeptical expression when he offered her his arm.  

“I have a question for you,” Jamie announced as he led her to her garden,  only having to give two or three firm tugs to get her there. He had wintered her plants for her, piling mounds of old hay over the ground to keep the roots safe from the winter frost, but the garden needed a proper trim and weeding to winterize well, and he knew she would know that without his saying so.   Instead, he sat them both down in the dirt beside a small bush.

“What’s the plant’s name,” Jamie asked softly.   She threw him a withered look, full of anguish and betrayal, but Jamie held tight to her hands and inched closer to her.

“It’s just me, Claire,” he whispered. “You need not fear my judgment. Just, please. Try.” 

Her eyes shifted to the nearby leaves, unable to hold his gaze,  but she released a nervous breath as her lip trembled.

“Prunus Avium,” she whispered.

“Prunus Avium,” Jamie repeated.  “Cherries, aye?”

“Wild cherries,” she replied.  “Different from the ones…in town.” Her voice cracked, but Jamie squeezed her hand, gifting her the smallest amount of courage.   They continued like this each day for about an hour, and after a week, frustrated by the encroaching weeds, Claire ventured out to her garden on her own.  

Once in her garden, her spirit began to return as her plants improved. Jamie coaxed her further from the house each week until she was comfortable walking to the stables by herself.  There, he had her read to him while he tended to the horses.

“You can’t possibly want to hear Robinson Crusoe again,” she croaked, though her voice had far less wobble when she raised it over the sound of horses.

“For the hundredth time? Nah,  try this one instead,” Jamie tossed a small, gently used book towards her, and Claire let out a huff as she read the title.

A Modest Proposal, by Johnathan Swift.  

“Feeling satirical, are you?”

“Och, no.  But I heard the British tell the Irish to eat their Bairnes.”

“Jamie!” Claire exclaimed. “That’s horrific.”

“It will make for good conversation, then.  Get reading.”

Claire settled herself on the hay bale and let a smile light up her face,  one of the first Jamie had seen since the attack.  He added a few more books to Lallybroch’s collection that winter, gifting them to Claire under the guise of encouragement.

Brian watched the two grow close over the winter months, and a warmth filled him when he saw an all too familiar joy exude from his children.  Jenny, who had pledged herself to Ian at the age of 14, was due to be married next month and seeing her joyous preparations alongside this long-awaited blossoming…

“Maybe I will live to see some grandchildren,” Brian confided to Lambert one evening as they shared a whiskey in his office.

“Don’t say it too loudly, my friend,”  Lamb whispered, clinking his glass to his.

* * *

Jenny and Ian’s wedding took place on the first day of spring, bringing most of Broch Morda’s residents inside the walls of Lallybroch in jubilant celebration. The evening was filled with boisterous good wishes for the happy couple, as well as games, food, and dancing.  

Claire felt a heady lightness flow through her as she watched Ian and Jenny take a turn during a dance,  a warmth filling her cheeks from the fires and from the ale.  She looked about briefly, before settling her eyes back on her hands in dismay, and if she was honest with herself, disappointment.

  Today hadn’t gone nearly as well as she expected, despite the ceremony being beautiful.  She felt selfish admitting such a thing,  even to herself,  but Jamie’s behavior towards her the last few days had confused her and soured her mood.

  They had been inseparable since the incident in town,  and he had gently led her back to herself with his kindness and laughter.  There was a time or two when she swore he had moved to kiss her,  but he would always pull away or resume the conversation so abruptly, she wondered at times if she had imagined it. The most recent was a week ago, and he had been avoiding her since. 

She had hoped that today, as they were both witnesses for the marriage, that they would move past whatever awkwardness had sprung up between them, but during the ceremony, he only met her gaze once and offered her the barest of smiles. 

She had not seen him since.  

Claire raised her head from her gloomy thoughts as a bell was rung.

It was considered good luck for men to announce their intentions at the end of the wedding, and the bride and groom often made a game of it.  The man would tell the groom which woman he wished for.   The groom would tell his wife, who would then play matchmaker.  The selected women were blindfolded and brought to their matches so the men could make a request, usually to dance. The woman could then accept or decline the offer before the crowd. 

 Acceptances brought thunderous applause while declines brought riotous laughter.

To say Claire was stunned and morbidly horrified when Jenny brought her a blindfold was the understatement of the century.

“Jenny, no…” Claire pleaded, backing away from her friend as Jenny erupted into a giggling fit.

“I’ll no spare ye, Claire, now hold still!”

“Wait…Jenny…”  But the blindfold was pulled over her eyes before she could get the words out.  

 _I may vomit on his boots,_   Claire thought to herself.  That would certainly be an appropriate response to whomever this stranger was.  

Whistles and laughter erupted as Jenny led her blindly forward before she stopped and moved behind Claire,  bringing her hands to her friend’s shoulders.

The blindfold fell away from her eyes at the same time a set of familiar hands surrounded hers, and her vision was filled with blue.  Jamie stood before her still in his formal garb from that morning and her mind raced as her brow furrowed and his lip quirked.

 _Did he really avoid her all evening just to make a public request for a dance?_    

The urge to shove him to the ground had never been stronger in her life.

“The request I make is not a light one,” Jamie started, raising his voice over the mutters and laughter in the crowd until all fell silent.  From the corner of her eye she saw Brian and Uncle Lambert standing close to one another, grinning like old fools.  

_What in the blazes…_

“I wish to court this woman, Ms. Claire Beauchamp, in hopes that she’ll accept me, and become my wife.”

 Roars of approval and gasps rose from the crowd, and Claire felt everyone take a step closer in anticipation of her response. Even Jenny’s fingers squeezed her shoulders.  

Thinking back on it later,  Claire would wonder what came over her.  Perhaps it was the ale and the whiskey,  or the overall grandeur of the day that would not allow for a simple, straightforward response.  

Or maybe she was plain furious at being ignored most of the evening.

Jamie squeezed her hands and Jenny came to the side of her and asked loudly, 

“Do you choose to accept, or decline Claire?”

Claire licked her lips and stared directly at Jamie as she answered.

“I choose…a chase.”


	5. Chapter 5

The low rumble of chuckles and wagers buzzed around Claire’s head as she watched Jamie’s expression change from astonished to firmly determined. He quirked a brow at her and nodded his consent.

“A chase it is then.  What are the terms?” He asked politely.

The game was simple.  She would run and he would try to catch her.

Naturally, Scottish tradition made it complex.  

The practice of “chase” honored the old clan tradition of bride stealing.  The men from one clan would agree to “steal” brides from a friendly clan, and would often give advance notice to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.

Women who were agreeable with the arrangement would often help their would-be captives escape unnoticed. If a woman disagreed with a man,  she could make it near impossible for him to leave with her.  And if she was unsure,  she could challenge him to a chase,  where he could display his prowess by successfully capturing her.

Claire, in truth, hadn’t thought this far but knew she had to negotiate as gracious terms as she could or Jamie would make short work of this and embarrass her in the process.

“I don’t suppose you’d give me a horse…”

“No,”  Jamie replied, attempting to keep a straight face.

“Fine then,  I get a 30-second head start.”

“Ten.”

“Twenty.”

“You’ll be to the barn and on horseback at twenty. I’ve seen you run.  Ye get 10.”

“I get a ten-second head start  _and_  your hands are bound.”

Jamie’s lip twitched.  “Agreed.  Contact only or do I need to restrain you as well?”

Claire leveled her chin at him. “What do you think?”

A boisterous laughter rumbled through the crowd, and a grin broke out on Jamie’s face as he held his hands out to be tied. A rope was produced and Claire bound his hands herself, making sure the knots were sound and tight on his wrists. He leaned forward as she secured the final knots.

“What’s my reward for catching you?” 

His husky whisper raised a line of goosebumps down her neck.

“If you catch me,  you’ll see.”  She tugged the rope, satisfied, and turned to Jenny.

“I’m trusting you to count fairly,” she said, throwing Jenny a narrow look and a smile.

“Ye forget, Claire,  I live to embarrass my brother.”

Jamie scowled at the two of them and turned to Ian. “Maybe you should count, aye?”

 

* * *

 

Ten seconds. She threw herself into the midst of the crowd and immediately crouched to lessen his height advantage. She picked up her skirts and darted through the guests,  making it past the initial crowd to the unknowing guests who had gathered by ale drums.  Moving quickly from group to group, she kept herself low, while dodging the drunk patrons and their swishing pints.  Just beyond the drinks was the well lit but crowded dance grounds. The drums were pounding a heavy quick beat that reverberated in her chest as she grew closer to the dance.  She felt her face light as the dancers turned in sharp circles, skirts and arms cutting the air as their feet kept time.  She slipped in amongst their lines just as she spotted Jamie run through the ale yard.  

His gaze stopped on her, and a knowing grin spread across his face.

_Why that smug…_

She tore through the couples,  begging pardons with smiles and laughter as she raced to the other side of the grounds following the lit torches that lead to the food tables.  

 

* * *

 

Ten seconds was far too generous, he realized.

She’d taken off quicker than a stung horse, and Jamie made the mistake of letting her out of his sight while he grabbed his dirk, which she forgot to strip off him, and cut off his bindings.

“That’s hardly fair,” Jenny piped in.  

“Who are ye supporting exactly, Janet?” Jamie huffed, halfway through the bindings. 

“Ye don’t want that answer,” Ian said with a grin as his arm wrapped around his wife’s waist.

Jamie finished cutting through his bindings and tore off after Claire, avoiding the crowd she’d hid in for the speed of the less trafficked path.  His eyes moved swiftly across the grounds, knowing she’d look for cover amongst…

There.  He saw the trails of her skirt shimmer through the dance crowds and decided to meet her on the opposite end.  By the time she escaped the crowd, he had cut her lead down by several seconds and just when he thought he had her,  she turned into the maze of food tables.  Then he realized his mistake.

Much as he wished it, he couldn’t climb over the long banquet tables and destroy the food,  though the smug grin Claire shot him from two tables away nearly swayed him.  More detrimental though, was the presence of Mrs. McGovern who never failed to stop him or his father and mention her eligible daughter who still required a husband.  

“You will pay for that…” Jamie swore under his breath as he shot Mrs. Govern a winning smile and immediately tried to disengage her.  He managed to do so in under two minutes, a new record in truths,  but by then Claire had made her way through the tables and was well on her way to the tree line.  

He didn’t follow the torches,  but he tracked her as she entered the forest. Slowing his pace once he hit the forest brush,  he kept his eyes on her as she ran further ahead and watched as she stopped right before the meadow’s clearing.

She was out of breath, and he knew from the loudness of her pants that she couldn’t hear his approach.  When he had managed to creep alongside her,  just 15 paces to her right, he watched as the moonlight streaked her cheek, cast beams upon her hair, and the curve of her back…

And that bottom that still made his breath catch when he thought of her pressed against his…

His knee settled on a branch and the snap made her startle.  She looked about,  but was unable to place where the sound came from.

“James Fraser,” he heard her mutter.  “If you’re trying to scare me…”

He smirked at her words and began to move closer to her.

“I’m going to throttle you into the afterlife. And you may be laughing as I do so,  but you won’t like it one…”

His arm slipped around her waist and spun her around as she shrieked and brought her arms down to pummel his chest.  He tucked her arms firmly against his chest, a laughter escaping him as her shrieks turned to chastisement.

“You arrogant, ruthless brute! How could you scare…”

But then his mouth was on hers, hungry and urgent, his tongue brushing her bottom lip and begging entrance.  Claire felt a familiar but long forgotten quiver in her belly, one that vibrated with her pulse so she felt it beating in her hands and her feet. It was that beat that made her open her eyes, push him onto his back and take off into the meadow.

Her laughter rang out as her feet carried her through the heather and wildflowers, and small packs of light bugs took flight as she ran into the moonlit field. Jamie was mere paces behind her, his own chuckles ringing out as he watched her spin herself, the sheer fabric of her sleeves and skirts glowing and taking flight.  When she started to slow, he closed the distance between them and pulled her slowly into her arms, his breath ragged but warm as it met hers.  He felt his heart soar as her arms circled his waist and her lips brushed his chin. 

“Will you promise yourself to me then?” He asked softly, as his lips brushed against hers.  “Will you have me?”

“Did you really fear I wouldn’t?” She reached forward for his lips, but he pulled them back.

“The having part, nay…I see the looks ye give me,” he scrunched his nose at her as he kept his mouth just out of her reach.  He brought them both to their knees in the heather, his hands clasped over hers and he pressed a soft kiss to her fingers.  “But I ken your spirit, and never dreamed you’d be content as a farmer’s wife. So tell me truthfully.  You’ll be pledged to me?”

She bit her bottom lip as a smile threatened to tear it from her. “Yes, I will.”

His mouth tugged her bottom lip from her teeth as his hands surrounded her, holding her firmly against him as they sunk down into the heather.  Tears flowed down her cheeks as he tenderly pressed kisses to her cheeks, chin, forehead and nose.

“But Jamie,” she said through her giggles as his lips moved to her neck. “You keep saying pledge. We can just marry. Next month if you’d like.”

“Your uncle wishes us to wait until your next birthday, and I agree with him.”

“But…”

“And I plan to use the time well,” he whispered huskily as his fingers played with a curl by her cheek. “Or will you not suffer me to spoil you a bit?”

“I don’t need…” His mouth cut her off when it found hers, and  Claire gasped as the tenderness boiled to passion.  His hand cupped her neck as his free hand delved to her skirts, seeking flesh and her curves.  She kicked the skirts away and took hold of his hand, bringing his fingers to her stockinged knee,  and then a bit higher to its ties.  His eyes swept her face, but then grew large as his fingers found cold metal.  Jamie held the back of the knee and gently moved the ruffles of skirts and lace until his eyes saw it.

His rose, the one he’d given her so passively months before, gleamed in the night’s moonbeam, its gentle curves and gems brilliant against her pale skin.

“Have ye worn it all this time?” He wondered aloud, his fingers gently brushing the soft skin around her ties.

“After I read your letters, yes, which we should talk about…”

“Aye, we should, though right now I just want to know: Do you feel it too?”

He meant what he referenced in his letters, and what she hadn’t felt with Bryce. He meant the feeling that poured out of every inch of her skin, and flowed through her veins since he’d kissed her.

“I do.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jamie felt a surge of joy overcome him at her admission, and a chuckle escaped him as he pressed her back into the grass in a tangle of kisses and limbs.  His hand found its way back to her stocking ties and Claire’s playful nibbles halted as his fingers found her bare thigh.

“Do you think me too bold?” He asked her, his eyes locked on hers as his free hand swept the curls from her face.

“No,” Claire replied and felt all the air leave her lungs as his tongue traced the shell of her ear. “No, I could survive more boldness.”

Jamie’s cheeks took on color as he entwined his fingers with hers, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he cleared his throat.

“There are…other things we could consider…” He whispered. “When we’re ready.”

“Oh?  What sorts of things?” Claire whispered with a grin.

“Well, Ian has been pledged to Jenny for years, ye ken? And while I never wanted to know anything about it, we spoke from time to time…”

“You. Did. Not.” Claire gasped,  holding a giggle in with her hand.

“We did,” he said indignantly, and then realized what she implied.    
“Not in relation to Jenny. Christ. No.”  He shook his head as if to shake the image out of it. “No, about the stories men tell on the road about such things.”

“You wretched thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“If, during these discussions, Ian had revealed anything to compromise your sister you would have beat him senseless, best friend or not.”

A grin spread across his face then. “Aye, that’s true.  But Ian never did give me a reason to bash his skull in.”

Claire’s laughter was cut off as a gunshot erupted into the night.  The sound tore through the gathering and silenced all music and voice.  Jamie jumped to his feet, and half dragged Claire to hers as he walked them back to where they had started their game, moving through the crowd that now circled the ale yard.  Jamie stopped suddenly, and Claire ran into his back just as she heard the voice she wished to never hear again.

“Where is the girl?” Black Jack Randall asked calmly.  He had a patrol of six soldiers with him, and Jamie slowly backed away, his hands holding Claire behind him.  Brian Fraser stepped forward to address Randall, widening his stance as Lambert stepped to his right.

“She is here, and she is safe.   That is all you need to know.”  Brian answered.  

“I have a right to question her for these charges your family brings…”

“Not before this matter is brought before a court,” Lambert stated.  “The lawyer was quite clear…”

“Unless another legal matter trumps this claim, and it does,” Randall directed his gaze Lambert. “Alistair Bramish has been taken into custody…”

“On what grounds?”  Brian growled.

“And I need to question her in regard to his practice,” Randall continued, ignoring Brian’s question.  “But if you insist with legal formalities,  I’ll have to return with a warrant for her arrest.”

“Then get your warrant, sir.” Lambert said. “I’ll not let you near my niece otherwise.”

Jamie had pushed them to the far back of the crowd, and the rest of the conversation was lost as he slipped them both through the back door and to his father’s office.  

He turned the key in the door and turned to Claire who had deflated with the click of the lock. She sat by the hearth, slippers discarded on the floor with her knees tucked to her chin.  Her shivers rattled her jaw as a soft sob escaped her.

Jamie found himself drawn to her,  and his arms circled her waist as she tucked her head under his chin.  

“They wrote charges against Randall,” Claire rasped through her tears.  His hands rubbed warmth back into her arms as he waited for the next question she was sure to ask.

“Did you know?”

“Aye, I did.”  She bristled under his hand and pulled away but he kept a firm hold on her.  “Claire. He can’t be allowed to go unchecked. You were nearly killed.”

“And he’ll be sure to finish the job this time!”

“No, he won’t,” Jamie replied, keeping his voice calm.  “This is bigger than you realize, with more incidents than yours.”  He squeezed her hand so she met his gaze.  “They’re trying to get him discharged and sentenced. At worst, relocated to some foreign British colony.”

Claire felt her anger dissipate as her eyes grew wide. “They have enough evidence for that?”

“Six testimonies with witnesses.  Yours will make seven…which is the other reason we need to wait to marry.” He added with a grunt.

“Because property can’t testify,” she added with her own grunt. Jamie shot her a wounded frown that struck her heart and shored up her bitterness.  “I didn’t mean…”

He pulled her back into his arms and squeezed her, silencing her apology.  “I ken. I pity any man who would try to “own” you, mo Chridhe.”

* * *

His father’s sharp double knock broke them apart, and Jamie crossed to let him and Lambert in. Seeing Claire’s expression, Lambert took her hand as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“I’m sorry for keeping this from you Claire, but we did not know until a few weeks ago.” Lambert’s gaze cut to Brian who let out a sigh that immediately raised the hair on Jamie’s neck.  Nothing good ever came from those sighs.

“Jamie,  Lambert is taking Claire to France. The boat leaves at dawn.”

* * *

Jamie vaguely heard Claire erupt with questions and outrage, but within him, he heard only a soft hum as a numbness crept into his heart.  This was, he knew, the safest option, and when he heard about the action against Randall, he knew they may be pressed to take this choice.  His father had prepared him for it should the worst happen. It did not make the reality of it less painful.

He resurfaced as his father’s hand closed on his shoulder,  and realized Claire had left the three men in the room, her legal testimony signed on Brian’s desk.  He met his father’s eyes and felt a thousand assurances flow through him as his father embraced him.

“Go after her,” Brian said, patting his son’s back.  “And don’t even think of withdrawing your proposal.”

“It’s written on my face, aye?” Jamie asked, attempting a smile.

“That she could find a better match in France?  Aye, and you’re a fool to even think it.  Now go.”

* * *

Jamie found her in the barn,  and that’s where they stayed until dawn broke, leaning against the warm hay bales,  fingers intertwined for fear of letting go. Claire shifted into his lap sometime during the night, and they whispered soft words to one another.

“You’ll write?”  
“Every day.”  
“This won’t be for long.”  
“It might be.”  
“I won’t let you go.”  
“I won’t let you.”  
“I love you.”  
“I love you, too.”

Jamie helped her to her feet as the first rooster began to crow, and they readied themselves for a departure that was too swiftly approaching.

He rode with her to the port, ensuring she and Lambert departed safety and relayed his father’s instructions that his cousin Jared was prepared to receive them.  When it was finally time to board, Claire froze.

“Please don’t make me go,” she whispered.

Jamie leaned down and pressed a hot-breathed kiss to her mouth as a tear glided down his cheek.

“I would never make you,” he whispered. “But I will beg you to get on that ship, knowing it keeps you safe.” A small smile appeared on her lips, and Jamie pressed a kiss to her nose.

“Go Claire,  and know I love you.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Always.”

And with a soft press of her lips to his,  she was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Claire’s arms hung heavy at her sides as the wind whipped her curls back. Her face was cold from the sea spray that pelted her skin, and despite having landed on the docks an hour ago, Claire couldn’t will herself to care about Uncle Lamb’s whereabouts, or about the lively entertainers near and around the docks. She was in France, a place she had dreamed of since she was a little girl, and enviously imagined while Jamie was in school. Yet, it didn’t matter. All she loved was on the other side of the channel, as well as the man who had forced her away from it.

 

* * *

 

 

Having thought of Black Jack Randall, she came back to herself and stood suddenly as if remembering all she had to do. She needed to ask her Uncle about Mr. Bramish, about the charges that were written, and she should get some writing materials for her letters.

She’d barely made it to the end of the docks when Uncle Lamb waved her down, summoning her over to a man who vaguely reminded her of Brian Fraser. The cousin. Of course.

_Time to pull yourself together, Beauchamp,_  Claire thought.  _Too much to do to fall apart now._

Lifting her skirts, she made her way over to the storage bay labeled FRASER in dark handsome script. Jared Fraser beamed at her as she approached, and Claire summoning all her courage and strength, forced a convincing smile.

 

* * *

 

 

The Paris House was ridiculous. That’s all Claire could think as she strolled through the rooms that were designated as “hers.” Jared spent little time here and was currently planning a trip to Spain to inquire after some Port. At least that’s the part of the dinner conversation that she remembered.

A bell interrupted her thoughts, followed by a servant carrying a tray with steaming teacups and biscuits. Jared followed shortly behind it.

He took a quick survey of the room and seeming pleased, shot Claire a friendly smile.

“Do you need anything, Claire? Have you had time to settle in?” He asked, kindly.

“I barely brought anything to constitute unpacking, but thank you for your hospitality.” Claire paused for a moment, biting her lip before she continued. “Did you know in advance I’d be coming?”

Jared motioned to the settee and took up a cup of tea. “When Brian wrote to me about the circumstances, I expected to see you here, despite his hope that it might not be necessary.” He pressed his lips together. “The English soldiers are not all as ruthless as Jonathan Randall, but he is perverse enough to sully the lot of them. I’m glad you’ve recovered so swiftly. Jamie always spoke so fondly of you.”

“He did?” Claire asked, unable to mask her surprise. Jared let out a chuckle and smiled. “Yes, he had occasional spells of homesickness, and it was then that he’d talk about his adventures with his Jenny and Ian, and you. I knew there was more to it than childhood friendship, even if he did not at the time.”

Claire felt a blush rise to her cheeks before she fidgeted with a spoon. “It hardly matters now. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return with Randall to face a hearing. It could be months, even years.”

“Try not to think of it, and the time will move faster than you’d imagine. I can make some introductions to get you some acquaintances before I leave town. Your uncle will be maintaining my books while you’re here so please do not hesitate to ask for whatever you need. Hopefully, when I’m back in a few months, you’ll have settled into your life here.” Jared stood, making to excuse himself.

“Wait! There is one thing…” Claire started. “Could you spare a quill and some paper for a letter?”

Jared smiled and motioned to window across the room. Claire’s eyes fell on the thick stack of parchment, numerous inkwells, and quills, sharpened and at the ready. “Oh!”

“I suspected you’d be in need of those,” Jared chuckled. “Goodnight, Claire.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Dearest Jamie,_  
It’s my first night in Paris, and despite the macaroons and fruit sweets the servants keep trying to ply me with, my thoughts rarely drift from you and what you must be doing at each waking hour.  
I suspect your days do not differ from too much from your usual routine, but I feel the emptiness of no longer being part of them. Have the roses begun to crawl up the front posts yet? Has there been a first bloom? What of my garden? Has the rosemary turned green yet from the rain you’re surely besieged with?  
Your cousin Jared has been very kind to Uncle Lamb and I and has even introduced me to the nuns at L'Hôpital des Anges. What a wonder this small event has played in my time here. I find my heart a bit lighter now that I’m able to continue my practice with herbs and medicine, and Mother Hildegard is an ever watchful and patient teacher.

_Speaking of teachers, Uncle Lamb had little news to share with me regarding Mr. Bramish, and I fear for his wellbeing. I beg you to tell me of any updates you receive on his behalf. The guilt I feel over his arrest._

_Please help him, Jamie._

_I must admit I have little practice as signing off love letters, and this one may be disappointing in its lack of platitudes and sonnets. Know I think of you, always, and that I long to see you again._

_Yours Faithfully,  
Claire Beauchamp_

 

* * *

 

 

_My Dearest Claire,_

_Your letters could never disappoint, and if they are ever filled with sonnets instead of plant matter, I will truly be concerned. I cannot fathom how leaves got into the letter I received, (did you place them intentionally or is your desk already covered in specimens?) but knowing you’ve found some joy to your days settles my heart._

_My days here are indeed much as they were when you left, save some planting and tending to your wee herbs. I find most of the house spends time in your garden throughout the day. Jenny and Ian have constructed some trellises for your vine plants, and father decided to start painting your fences just this morning. I believe they are drawn to it when they miss your presence, as the feel of you lingers amongst the buds and twigs._

_As for Mr. Bramish, he was released to his home shortly after you left, but his demeanor is much changed. Father has reached out to my Uncle Dougal to see if a healer is needed at Leoch. Mr. Bramish has little desire to stay anywhere near Fort William, as can be expected, and hopes to be away from Broch Tuarach for a time._

_Lastly, within this letter, you’ll find the first bloom of the season, pressed with care. I know our engagement celebrations were cut short, but know my every breath is devoted to reuniting with you once this hardship passes._

_I’ll be one and twenty by the time you receive this letter. Months ago, I imagined we’d share all our remaining name days together. I pray to God that I’m given several more to share with you and will spend few more apart._

_I know we whispered the words in the darkness the morning you left, but I love you, now and always._

_Yours,_

_James Fraser_

 

**5 Months After Chapter 7**

Dearest Jamie,

While I enjoyed all your letters, particularly the amorous ones, I was shocked when a servant brought in a small wooden crate from Scotland! How on Earth did you come to possess that many lavender sprigs? I was positively overjoyed to receive such a treasure but…how?

I hear word about the troubles stirring at home: countless raids, unjust imprisonments, dull roars of rebellion and uprising. Please, do not feel inclined to send me frivolities during such a chaotic time. I worry about you all when I overhear such things, and beg you to take care of yourself and our home. I miss you every day.

A stream of soldiers from the Spanish front has settled in Paris to heal. They are friendly and have wonderful tales of adventure despite poor etiquette. I tend to their injuries at the hospital as they learn to live with missing limbs or senses. It's wonderful to see the human spirit thrive through such adversity.

I love you my darling.

Yours Faithfully,

Claire

* * *

  
Dearest Claire,

If my punishment for showering you in frivolities was to plague my mind with images of “poor etiquette,” you’ve done well. I’m not above jealous thoughts of men who can see your smile when I cannot.

Your punishment was not needed, however. The sprigs came from the lavender plants growing in your garden. Bryce gifted the wee weeds (they’re trying to grow over the garden fence. What you received was Father’s mere effort to keep them contained) stating you played a significant part in his recent engagement to Leanna McCleary. As you’ve been in Paris for 5 months you can understand my confusion. What have you been up to, I wonder?

Bryce stops by the estate often and always asks how you fare. He’s surprisingly turned into a friend of sorts and has taken to hovering over my shoulder when he brings his horses by for shoeing. It’s a comfort, and I do appreciate his company. (Also your doing, I suspect.)

To more serious matters, the political scene at home is as you hear, though Broch Mordha is remote enough to escape most of the excitement. It doesn’t stop my Uncle’s letters, some from Dougal decrying the Scottish blood split, and those from Colum, urging temperance. They speak as if we have any ability to temper actions my grandsire would or would not take.

Hogmanay will be upon us soon, perhaps shortly after I receive your next letter. Do you have any celebrations planned and is it too much to hope the young etiquette-less men will not be attending?

Yours (only),

James

* * *

 

James Fraser,

Do you really think me the type to play coy with your feelings? Honestly, I mentioned those officers to let you know I’m not shuttered away in misery, and you interpret it as fancy? Do you also believe a swish of golden sash will have me throwing off my skirts?

Any parties I do attend are hosted by my uncle’s aging university fellows, but Fear not. Most are too preoccupied with their studies and bowel movements to consider me an object of lust.

As for Leanna, I wrote a few letters to her since I arrived in Paris but I hardly consider that ‘influential.’ Still, I am overjoyed to hear their news, and of your friendship with Bryce. Please give Bryce surpluses of Lavender and let Jenny know the buds can be crushed and seeped for indigestion and nausea.

I love you, despite your idiotic jealousy.

Sincerely,

Claire

* * *

 

Claire,

It was not my intention to call your loyalty or character into question. My words were jests or intended to be, but my mood as of late may have influenced them.

Forgive me.

As I suspect you know, Jenny is with child, and though I am overjoyed for her and Ian, my heart is full of fear and, though I’m ashamed to admit it, bitterness.

The fear I believe you expect. Having lost a mother so young to the perils of childbirth, I worry about her and the child and find myself contemplating my life without her. I know ultimately that none of us know the day of our calling, and that we must live each day as our last, and so I’ve vowed to spend more time with her, and in doing so, remind myself of the time I am missing with you.

In seeing our family and tenants expand their families, I ache to have you here where you belong. Your name day is in two weeks, and instead of preparing for our wedding, my father is fighting trial delays to dismantle the career of a monster. None of us anticipated these games by the British courts and military, though perhaps we should have. Still, I have one small bit of news: The trial date is set for April 10th of this coming year. My father believes the trial will take two weeks, and God willing, I can send for you once Randall is dealt with.

You hold my heart so completely that I’m surprised it beats without yo

Yours,

Jamie

* * *

 

Dearest Jamie,

Jenny wrote me of her joyous news, but I suspected the announcement would be bittersweet and worrisome for you.

You’ve always held your fears close to your heart, but I appreciate you sharing them with me now. There is always worry when the future is uncertain, but I beg you to have faith. I pray for our Jenny, but I know too that she is a fortress, and will not let God call her from her family lightly.

I’m relieved to hear the trial date is set. If all goes well, I could be home before Jenny delivers the child. The mere thought of home is enough to make my heart burst, but to be your wife? To know all of you, and love all of you…the thought makes my breath catch and reminds me of our few hours in the meadow. The heat of your body against mine, and the gentleness way your fingers roamed along my thigh…

I keep my brooch by my heart now, and I cling to these memories when I ache for you. I’ve reread your first letters to me a hundred times, and I’ve meant to ask you: What made your thoughts turn to me?

Yours,

Claire

P.S. There is nothing to forgive. I love you.

* * *

 

Dearest Claire,

What made my thoughts turn to you? It seemed there was rarely a moment when I wasn’t thinking of home while I was away from it, but in truth, I thought of you every time I wanted to share a story, a sadness, or an excitement. My mind wandered often to what you’d think of a play or a book, and As you think of my routine now and take comfort, I often did the same. 4 p.m. she’ll be pulling weeds with the last day’s light no doubt.

I often think of that evening in the meadow, and will sometimes lay in the tall grass at night, remembering your warmth. I miss your laughter most of all, and how it filled the barn and lightened my spirits.

It’s harder now, with you transplanted in a place I know but can’t experience with you. I’m sure there are excitements to your days in such a busy city, and I know you must be in high demand with the sick and injured. Do you think you’ll miss it when you return to Scotland?

Two more months until the trial begins. I feel as if it shall never arrive, but father’s increased number of visitors seems to prove otherwise. Written testimonies have been collected by several individuals and passed onto the presiding magistrate who will hear the case.  
All we can do now is wait, though I do take some satisfaction that each day that goes by brings you closer to home. Would you be cross with me if I insisted we marry the moment you set foot in Scotland?

All my Love,

James Fraser

* * *

  
Dearest Jamie,

I can’t say I would be the slightest bit cross with you, though the overpowering smell of fish would certainly make it memorable. Oh, Jamie. I do miss you terribly.

I’ve made some friends here, but to miss France? No. Life here is pleasant, but not what I desire.

I’ve noticed the ferries are coming slower now from Scotland. Has the weather been poor this year? I haven’t seen a ferry arrive for a week but was told one was coming for sure this Friday with communications for the crown. I’ll be sneaking this letter across to you then with hopefully no further delays.

Only a few more weeks my dear. Please write as soon as you can with news.

Yours Faithfully,

Claire


	8. Chapter 8

Claire was a nervous wreck. She hadn’t received a letter from Jamie in over a month, and the trial date for Randall had come and passed without any news. What’s was worse: she knew a letter would be bound for her if the damn ferry would arrive. 

The seas had become more perilous over this past winter, and though everyone initially blamed the weather of the delays, a rumor was spreading that the Scottish uprisings were growing and the ports were being more heavily penalized as England tightened it’s grip.

Uncle Lamb kept his ear to the ground and reached out to several contacts to keep word of what was happening back home, but as information grew more and more scarce, Claire felt a heaviness in her chest that grew with each passing day. 

She began pacing the docks when a month had passed since the trial date, and each day she would hear more of the same. 

“The English won’t let the ships leave Scotland, Mademoiselle.” The French officer would say. “That’s the last we heard from an English ship that entered port a week ago.”

Finally, six weeks after the trial date, a ferry arrived in Le Havre, and Claire danced about the pier nervously, waiting anxiously for Jared’s servant who accompanied the shipments to Scotland. He did not disappoint.

Claire tore open the letter immediately, and quickly began to read:

_Claire,_

_Jonathan Randall was released._

“No,” she said audibly. “No, how…”

_I can barely write these words, but I know I must. You must stay in France. You cannot come home, for Randall has been demoted but remains within the British ranks, and I fear if he discovered you, he would certainly take his vengeance._

_Claire, for your own safety, and for my love for you, I release you from our engagement. I can not ask you to wait for a life that is a dream, and the uprisings add an uncertainty to life continuing for any of us in Scotland. I will not have that for you._

_If you love me, please stay in France so I know you are well, and safe. It is my only wish for you, to have a life even if it cannot be with me._

_Yours always,_

_Jamie_

 

 

Claire felt her knees wobble and threw out her arm to keep herself from falling into the port. Tears filled her eyes as his words played over and over in her mind. The words written on the sheet were blotched before her tears stained the page, and she knew then his true reluctance in writing them.

“Officer!” Claire called out, reaching for the seaman’s arm. “Please. When is the ferry due to leave?”

“We send her back this evening. Six o’clock.”

“Thank you.” She called before turning on her heels and running for her carriage. She had to speak with Uncle Lamb right away.

* * *

 

Brian was tired. Between Dougal showing up on his doorstep in hopes of recruiting his men for an uprising, Jenny’s pending delivery, and now his son’s asinine behavior, he felt additionally aged by a decade.

He and Jamie had not spoken in two days since Jamie revealed the contents of the letter he sent to Claire. The argument that ensued had not been his finest parenting moment.

“You’re abandoning her there, regardless of how well intentioned you wish to make this sound!” Brian roared at him.

“You say that as if I have a choice at all in this! You’d have me bring her home to be hanged, or imprisoned?” Jamie shouted back.

“I’d have ye live your life, and allow her the chance to make her own choice of how she’d spend hers!”

“So she can choose to come home and starve to death with the rest of us, or be run through when the soldiers are at our door? Nay, damn it! I will not let that pass!”

Brian rubbed his shoulder, where a niggling soreness had taken hold the last few days. He had to write a letter to Lamb, explaining…well, explaining. He knew he could not force Jamie’s hand, but he refused to watch his son throw his future in the fire. 

“Ellen, What would you say to the lad?” Brian muttered out loud. “How would you convince him to live, rather than survive?”

* * *

 

Jamie leaned against the garden fence and stared at the lavender bushes, neatly trimmed and in bloom. It’d taken him months to learn to tame the beastly things, and now…

His heart had ached on his name day a few weeks ago, knowing the words his letter would hold. Now with the business done, he felt nothing. The numbness had crept in slowly, but he welcomed it, as he welcomed the flask of whiskey he took to his bedchamber to get to sleep.

He’d talk to his father this evening, he told himself. Jamie knew he wanted nothing but his happiness, but Jamie couldn’t regret sacrificing his happiness for Claire’s. She would forget him in time, find happiness, marry another, he told himself, and he could almost pretend to be happy about it.

The sun was setting over the meadow and Jamie still wanted to stop by Ian and Jenny’s home to ensure they had enough firewood. The evenings remained brisk enough for fire despite Spring being underway. Jenny was due to give birth in the next week, and he wanted to assist Ian any way he could until…

Jamie’s ears perked up at the sound of a horse galloping towards Lallybroch about two miles out from the gate. He squinted as he tried to make out the rider, but they wore a black cloak and hood.

One of Dougal’s men no doubt, requesting food or supplies. Jamie collected his tools and placed them in the shed for the evening, along with another armful of lavender clippings. Locking it behind him, he saw the rider had closed the distance and was now just a mile down the road. Brushing himself off, he stood in the center courtyard, waiting to see what this person needed before he retired for the evening.

Christ, he was tired. And he still had to see his sister and make things right with his father before he could succumb to sleep.

The rider walked their horse through Lallybroch’s arch, and Jamie hailed them to a halt.

“Evening sir. I can feed and water your horse but I’m afraid we don’t have much else in terms of hospitality to offer you.”

The rider dismounted and pushed back her cloak. “Well,” Claire answered. “luckily, I only came for you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Jamie felt time slow as he took two halted steps towards Claire and brushed his hand against her cheek. “Christ, you’re real.”

A smile tugged at Claire’s lips as her hand moved over his.  Her touch seemed to send time back to its standard current. Before he could take another breath, he crushed her against his chest and buried his face in her tousled curls.

“So are you,” she whispered, as she pressed her nose into his chest. Jamie pulled away enough to take in her face: her golden eyes brimmed with tears, her flushed cheeks, and the bow of her red lips. He wiped the tears streaks on her cheeks and bent cautiously to her lips.  Claire closed the distance, and let her hands cup his face as his arms pulled her close.  Their lips were shy and soft as they cautiously brushed against one another, but just as Jamie pressed to deepen the kiss, a distant gunshot pulled his attention back to their surroundings.

“Come inside, quickly,” Jamie whispered as he spun her toward the house.  Jamie closed the front doors and moved to the living room window, where he could see the stretch of the front yard and the archway.  Satisfied with the lack of movement, he turned back to her, his mood visibly dampened.

“Claire, what are you doing here?” He whispered.  “Did you not get my letter? I wrote—”

“No, I did.” Claire took a breath and steadied herself.

Jamie stared at her blankly.  “Did you read the part about staying in Paris?”

Claire pursed her lips.  “Yes, I read it.” She took another breath. “I didn’t agree.”

Jamie pressed his lips into a thin line as his index finger drummed against his thigh.  A war broke within him as her steely gaze held his without a flicker of doubt or apology.

“You didn’t…agree.”

Jamie raised a hand to his brow and rubbed at his temple.  He realized for the first time the distance she traveled to arrive at his feet and his agitation grew tenfold.  “You crossed the channel, rode through the countryside by yourself…”

“Well, I would have sent for you, but I didn’t want to have this discussion on the docks…” Claire muttered.

Jamie continued, unfazed. “—where British details clog every road and river from here to Edinburgh to tell me you don’t agree?” Jamie’s words hissed as his brows furrowed in anger.  “Christ, woman. Will ye go to Rome, next, for confession?”

Claire’s face reddened as her patience thinned from his mockery.  “Can you understand why I took such a risk? You broke off our engagement and told me to never return home! I had to—”

“Had to what?” Jamie scoffed. “Risk your life and—”

“I had to make you see reason!” She yelled. “I won’t let you discard me out of fear of a future we can’t predict.”

“Discard you?“ He exclaimed. “I struggled with that decision for weeks! It killed me to even consider it—”

“How could you consider it?” She shouted at him.  “How could you forsake me and then insist I do the same to my home and family when war threatens to burn them to ash?”

“Jonathan Randall can detain you on a whim while you’re in Scotland,” Jamie shouted in return.  “A life as a worm on his hook, that’s what you’ll have here.” Jamie raked his hands down his face as he took a step towards her. “What kind of man would I be to not give you up? To not let you find someone else—”

“I don’t want someone else,” Claire cried out, pushing him back from her. “I am yours, damn it.”

“If you were, you would have listened to me and stayed put,” Jamie growled.  “But God knows your stubbornness won’t let you obey a single…”

“Oh, is your pride hurt that I didn’t obey your ridiculous, self-sacrificing plan—”

“You’re one to speak of pride, you shrewish—”

“ENOUGH.”

Jamie and Claire startled into silence as they turned to see Ian and Brian staring at them from the kitchen.

“Christ.  I heard you both from Ian’s house,” Brian sighed, as he handed Ian the books he carried.  Brian approached Claire and lifted her chin.

“Claire,” he muttered softly.  “Can’t say I’m surprised to see ye.”  He felt Jamie’s stare burning into the back of his skull, and added, “Nor pleased.”

“I had to make a quick decision, so Uncle Lamb and I discussed it, and I decided to come.”  Claire felt her anger deflate and took a seat in the kitchen. “The news coming out of Scotland has been sparse, but any word we do get has been grim.  I couldn’t risk that ferry being the last one…before…”

“Aye, I know, lass,” Brian said softly, and he brought her into his arms for a proper hug.  “And it’s no’ like we couldn’t use the help…”

“She won’t be staying,” Jamie announced, his words crisp and sharp. “She’ll be on the next ferry back to France once I talk to the Port commissioner—”

“Like hell, I will,” Claire spat,  moving from Brian back into range Jamie’s glare. “You can’t force me to leave!”

“You will do as I say, Claire, if I have to drag you onto the ship and chain you to the mast—”

“You’re not my bloody husband, and therefore cannot order me or drag me any—”

“Brian!” Ian shouted, as he lunged forward and caught Brian by the arm before his head collided with the bench corner.  Brian stumbled and fell to his knees, his hand clamped hard on Ian’s.

“Da?” Jamie asked softly as he grabbed his father’s other arm and arranged him on the bench.  “Is it your leg again?”

Brian didn’t respond but tried to wave off his son.  Jamie took his arm and stilled it with his own, as his eyes met Claire’s.

“This has happened before?” Claire asked as she took Brian’s wrist and began counting his pulse.

“Nay, but he was favoring his leg this morning…”

“Aye,” Ian added. “He thought his toe was broken from when he kicked the desk the other night.”

“Why did he—” Neither Ian or Jamie would meet her gaze, so she let her words Peter off. “Right.  Well, bring him into the downstairs bedroom.  I need to look at that toe.”

“Dinna fash,” Brian rasped out,  as his color began to return.  “I’m fine…”  Claire noted the ticking muscles in his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  

“I’m sure you are,” Claire said softly, as she stood out of Jamie and Ian’s way. She headed to the pantry,  hoping beyond hope that Jenny still kept ample amounts of willow bark stored.

* * *

 

An hour later, Brian Fraser held a pungent brew of willow bark tea and frowned as Claire poked and prodded his toe.

“It’s not only broken, its compounded,” Claire announced, as she gingerly washed the bruised foot.  “How on earth did you not notice? You should have set this already.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even have a chance to look at it,” Brian grumbled. “I fell asleep at my desk—” he winced as Claire moved his foot to the left.  “And never even got my boots off.”

“That boot kept you from injuring it further.”  Claire’s eyes fell on Jamie who hovered in the doorway and looked too pale for comfort. He gripped the whiskey flask she’d sent him to retrieve but had been silently observing her since he returned.  “We’ll need to set it when you're ready.”

“Aye.  Let's get it done then,” Brian grumbled as he put his hand out towards Jamie.  

“Tea first.  Then whiskey.” Claire tutted, and smiled when Brian obliged her.   
Jamie sat beside his father on the bed and squeezed his shoulder. “Should I get you some leather, Da?”

“Tempted as I may be to thrash ye,” Brian grumbled, as his lip quirked in a grin. “I’ll pass, lad.”  Jamie shook his head but gripped his father’s hand and shoulder as Claire took hold of his foot

“On three then…”

* * *

 

Claire hovered between wakefulness and sleep as she rocked gently in the chair beside Brian’s bed.  He’d been resting deeply since she set his toe a few hours before, but she wouldn’t leave him alone this evening.  Claire had seen signs of apoplexy before, but never as a result of an injury.  Brian would need a steady supply of willow bark tea,  possibly a bloodletting, and—

A blanket fell across her shoulders, startling her from her thoughts.

“Just me,” Jamie whispered before he sat across from her on Brian’s bed.  He reached down and pulled her feet into his lap, letting his fingers rub the soreness from the pads of her feet. Claire made a grateful sound as she stretched towards him and felt any harbored anger she felt towards him dissipate as his blue eyes met hers.

“I thought to go to France,” he whispered to her. “To go be with ye, if you couldn’t come home.”

“I would never have let you stay,” Claire whispered back. “You’re needed here, Jamie. Your family, your tenants, and Lallybroch, what would become of all of them if their laird took off to Paris, hmm?” She poked his hand with her foot, and he squeezed it, as an answer.

“And I knew that’s what you’d say,” he replied. “But when that letter left my hands—” He met Claire's eyes.  “—I couldna stop thinking of ways to gain back your heart.”

Claire couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at her lips. She glanced at Brian’s sleeping form and tilted her head towards the hallway. Jamie took her hand and led her to the hall’s end window.  

“Why insist on me leaving then?” Claire whispered softly as her finger ran across his chin’s stubble. Jamie wound one arm around her waist while his other intertwined with her teasing hand.  He brought her fingers to his lips and pressed soft kisses to each of her knuckles.

“It’s still the best way to keep you from Randall,” he began, “but I don’t think I have the strength to be parted from you again.  What would we have happened to my father if you hadn’t been here?”

“It could still happen,” Claire whispered. “He’s not well Jamie, but I’ll do everything within my power to get him well.  And then there’s Jenny…”

“Aye.  She’s madder than a singed hen that she canna walk here to see ye.” He lowered his forehead to hers.  “I ken we’re still arguing Claire, but I would like very much to kiss ye.”

Claire answered by touching her tongue to his lower lip and felt her chest quake as Jamie moaned into her mouth. He gently pressed her back into the wall, and pushed his hips against hers as their kisses fevered and blistered their lips.    Claire’s hands lowered to his waist and clenched his abdomen, feeling the heat of his skin burn through his thin shirt. Jamie’s mouth moved from her lips to her neck, where he gently suckled her pulse and the hollow of her throat.  He tasted the salt of her skin and heard her breathy gasp as his lips moved to the swell of her breasts. She trembled in his hands, but he also felt unraveled by the feel of her nails on his stomach.

“I love you, Claire,” he rasped as he kissed the shell of her ear. “God, I want you.”

Claire opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of steps coming down the stairs forced her to step back.  Her eyes glowed with her reply, but she turned and walked back into Brian’s room as Jamie regained his composure.   Ian rounded the corner at the end of the hall and approached.

“I tended to the hearths. Is Claire asleep then?” Ian asked with a yawn.  

“Aye, she is,” Jamie replied softly before he turned and climbed the stairs to his own bed.


	10. Chapter 10

“Lass, can you give it a rest for a moment? I’m trying to read.”  Brian pushed away from the mug of tea, the third one of the day so far, and tried to swallow his irritation.  

“The agreement we reached was more cups of tea at half the strength,” Claire replied, putting the tea down on his night table.  “I’ve done my part.  Now you have to do yours.”

Brian shuffled through the ledgers on the empty side of the bed. Ian had been kind enough to bring them up from the office with a few select books.  “I’m feeling much better, Claire, and I’ve only moved from this spot to go to the privy…”

“Ian caught you trying to walk—”

“Well it’s my house, damn it. I can walk about if I please!” Brian grumbled as he readjusted the pillow behind his back.   He bristled as pain spiked through his foot, and then let out a sigh as his eyes fell on Claire.  “I’m sorry, lass. You’re the last person I should be snapping at.”

Claire brushed her hand over Brian’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Forgiven. Jenny should be by soon, so I’ll let you alone for a bit.  Just call for Mrs. Crook if  you need anything.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Claire climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, and let out a breath as she cupped her elbows.  The last week had been stressful for everyone at Lallybroch.  Brian was not accustomed to a lack of freedom, and frankly, neither was she.    

When Jamie returned from delivering her horse to the dock handler, he confirmed her fears: There were no boats heading out of the port for at least a month.   While the British weren’t legally blockading,  the new stipulations on cargo manifests and travel papers assured no easy entry or departure.

“We’ll just have to be careful,” Jamie had told her.  “Don’t leave the house during the day, and stay away from the windows, ken?”  

She did as he asked, even though that left him and Ian to see to the crucial chores.  Jamie often left the house before sunrise and would drag himself in well after dark, leaving little time or energy to discuss much else.  She knew the matter between them was far from settled, but since their kiss outside of Brian’s quarters,  Jamie kept to himself.  He ate in silence and often alone, and most nights he retired with little more than a squeeze of her hand.

Between Jamie’s distance and her confinement to the house,  she felt short of temper as well.

* * *

 She’d only left the house once since she arrived, and it was the night Jamie took her to see Jenny. Jenny had been pacing the kitchen, waiting for them to arrive, and threw herself at Claire the moment she stepped in the door.

“I’ve never been so happy to see ye,” Jenny said, pulling her into a tight hug.  “I want to hear all about your journey here, and Da but I must beg your help first.”

“Yes, I see that,” Claire said with a sad smile.

Jenny was very close to her birth date, as her low, swollen belly clearly announced.  However, Claire could see that her impending birth was made more uncomfortable by the rash spreading across her hands, face, and feet.

“Is there nothing that will help it?  I can barely keep from tearing at my skin!”

“I’ve seen it in first-time mothers,” Claire said as her brow furrowed.  “It goes away once the child is born but…Oh! A cold bath with mint and eucalyptus?”

“Cold, aye?  Well, that should be easy enough…Jamie quit pacing by the door.  She’s no’ leaving until we’ve had a chat.”

“Fine,” Jamie spat, and stomped upstairs into the study,  as Ian’s voice called out to him.

Jenny pursed her lips before eying Claire’s forlorn expression.  “He has a hornet up his kilt, Claire, but he’ll be all right.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Claire said softly. “I know he’s angry with me but-”

“Claire.”   Jenny shook her head and smiled. “He’s not angry.  He’s terrified.  He would blame himself if harm came to ye, ken?”  Jenny dropped her eyes and took Claire’s hand.  “Come, let’s have some tea.”

They spoke softly in the kitchen for hours as Claire ground mint leaves into a paste for Jenny’s skin.  

“He’d been so strong these past months,” Jenny murmured, as her eyes met Claire’s.  “But when they released Randall back into the army, I think he lost hope.  You were taken away from him, in his eyes, and he couldn’t find a way to right it.”

“I know,” Claire said softly. “When I decided to come back…” Claire paused, setting down her tea. “It was near autonomous, like breathing. To stay in Paris would go against every fiber of my being.”

“I think you chose right, Claire,” Jenny answered.  “And Jamie will come to see it as well. Just be patient with him.”

When they left, Jamie had led her silently back to the house, sticking to the shadowed path out of the moon’s light.

When they crossed the house’s threshold, Claire trapped Jamie against the shutting door.

“We should talk,” she whispered.  

“We will, but not tonight,” Jamie answered, moving to sidestep her.   Claire pressed her mouth to his chin and felt him tremble as a gasp escaped him. 

“Claire, stop…”

Claire squeezed her eyes shut and stepped away from him. She bit her bottom lip to steady herself before she turned to leave.

“Just give me some time to think through this—”

“We could do that together, you know.” She had muttered, but she wasn’t sure if he heard her.  

* * *

Claire tugged the ribbon out of her hair,  her frustration and ire renewed from her wandering thoughts.  It’d been 5 days since that night, but she refused to push him again.  Her hands found the washing jug, steaming with water, but frowned when she realized her soap was gone.  Mrs. Crook was a wonder and often wandered about the house refreshing jugs of hot water, hearths, and soap bars before the need was realized, but apparently, she too was strained by the Laird’s illness.

Claire descended the stairs and made her way to the mudroom towards the back of the house.  She knew she’d find some soap and towels—

“Ifrin!”

“Ow!” Claire groaned as the mudroom door smashed her nose.  Black spots filled her vision but she was already warming up her retort when her eyes landed on Jamie’s naked torso.  

His wet, naked torso.  

Pecs. 

Chest. 

Muscles.  

_Damn it Beauchamp!_

A damp washcloth appeared on her face a moment later as Jamie wiped up the blood already flowing down her chin. She found herself tilted over the mudroom sink a moment after that.  

“I’m so verra sorry, Claire,” he said softly.  “I wasn’t even thinking when I…”

“I know…it’s…” Claire felt her face grow hot as he pressed closer to her.  His hands held the washcloth to her face as his hand rubbed her side.  She felt her body rise to meet his hand, but too quickly he turned her around to inspect her face.

“It’s already stopped,” she whispered, as an arm came around her waist and the other wiped at her nose.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands.  His naked skin seemed to span her entire vision, not allowing her to look at anything but him.  From the deep hollows of his shoulders to the golden skin of his chest… _did he work outside without his shirt? It was summer, after all,_ …to the flat valley of his stomach and naval tucked tight to his spine, stretching her eye to his hip before his skin disappeared into layers of plaid.   She knew he was no longer the boy she’d known years before, but she’d never chanced a view of him this close and this undressed.  

She noticed then that neither had moved away from the other and that his gaze was locked on hers.  

“I’m sorry…” She started.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, the corner of his lip lifting in amusement. “I’m yours to look at.”

“Are you?” She replied, forcing herself to drop her eyes to her hands. She sidestepped him and moved back to exit the mudroom when his hand caught her elbow and gently pulled her back.

He placed one of her hands gently over his heart and pressed it there.  She felt the swell of his breath, the tingling heat beneath her fingers, and below the muscle and sinew, the beat of his heart.  She felt it thrum through her fingers, through her blood until it pounded in her ears with her own pulse.  Her breath quickened as her lids grew heavy, and then his lips were on hers, smoldering and lustful, greedily nipping at her as he leaned her back over the cupboard.

His fingers burrowed into the laces of her dress when Jenny’s voice came howling through the front door, two rooms away.

“Christ almighty,” Jamie muttered and continued to curse in Gaelic as he took in both of their disheveled states.  Claire’s face erupted in a grin, and Jamie barely clapped his hand over her mouth before she erupted into giggles.  He spun her towards the outside door and with a few long strides and a grab of his shirt they were outside, sheltered by the evening darkness.  Claire smirked as he righted his shirt and turned back to her, his expression surprisingly shy.

“I can always count on Jenny’s lack of timing,” Jamie muttered, as his eyes traveled over her.  Claire glowed with laughter and a smile that could chase away storm clouds but said nothing as her eyes danced and sparkled.

“Can I show ye something, Claire?”

“Of course.”   He led her by the hand around the side of the house, keeping Claire close to his side as they walked.  

“I’ve been wanting to show you them since you came back, but the light hasn’t been very good for it.  With the full moon, however…”

“What do you…Oh.”

Her words caught in her throat as she saw her garden for the first time in over a year. Four beautiful lavender bushes grew half way up the back wall of her shed,  though the small dilapidated shed appeared expanded as well as newly roofed.  The lavender was blooming, and in the warm summer heat, their fragrance was heady and exhilarating.  

“Jamie…” Claire choked out, as she pulled him closer to her garden’s fence.  He led her through the side gate until she stood in front of the bushes, and exhaled as he studied her expression.

“Oh good. You like them,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips as she softly brushed against his.

“I should be thanking you.  You had the strength to come back to me when all I could do was fear,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for my distance, for my words of anger, but most of all, Claire I’m sorry I doubted us.”

“What changed your mind?” She whispered.

He let a small smile grace his lips. “Weeel, I’d love to say I came to the realization on my own, but God delivered a bit of good news as well, aye?”

“Oh? And what was that?”

“There is a rumor of a Scottish army taking arms by the English border.  All soldiering units have been recalled to England, where they’ll stay until further notice.”

“No!” Claire exclaimed.  “And Randall?”

“Already gone, as of two days ago.”

Claire leaped into Jamie’s arms as the crackle of laughter burst forth from her.  Jamie spun her around before his lips collided with hers, his hunger for her growing as his hands curved into her waist and neck.  Their kisses grew more urgent as their bodies rubbed and twisted against one another.

“Claire,” Jamie whispered, against her lips. “Please stay with me tonight.”

“Stay?” She asked, the haze of lust affecting more than her hearing now.

“In my room, just to sleep,” He pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Just to sleep?” She whispered harshly.

He grinned. “Well, mostly.”


End file.
